TRUST ME: VOLUME III
by NokuMarieDeux
Summary: Although success appears to be just over the horizon, the course of love rarely runs smooth... and the deadline for accomplishment of the mission is fast approaching.


**TRUST ME • A SUPRANATURAL TALE IN FOUR VOLUMES**

**VOLUME III**

**PART SIX • THURSDAY**

CHAPTER 14:_** "Yield not to calamity but face her boldly" **_• Virgil

Morning chores were conducted without Bernard's participation. They were already gathered at the breakfast table genially discussing weather, livestock and the latest football scores by the time he finally put in an appearance, looking like death warmed over.

"Sorry. Overslept," Bernard croaked. "Shoulda woke me."

"Are you alright now? Dottie said you were taken ill," Dora inquired solicitously.

"Other than a headache, peachy keen." A blatant lie

Ron chortled. "Not to put too fine a point on it, mate, but you look like sh... _OW!_" Again with the boot under the table. Dora was staring daggers at him.

Steve sniggered. "Local poteen too much for you, was it?" He shut up when The Look swiveled his way.

Dora was concerned. "Bernard... think... what's the last thing you remember from yesterday?"

"Riding over to someone's house to look at some horses?"

"And after that?" she prompted. "What did you do after we got home?"

The look of concentration on his face gave way to incredulity. "I... uh... don't remember..."

"You said you were going for a walk in the woods."

"Did I?" The import of that dawned. "I don't remember anything before waking up just a while ago. That's sure odd."

"Odd doesn't begin to cover it," Steve snorted.

"Too bad you missed all the excitement yesterday," Ron commented, "We almost caught that horse of yours but he got away."

"Yeah. And if you'd been here like you were supposed to, we would have got him. You want to tell us what happened?" Steve was gripping his mug with an intensity that threatened to crush the china to fragments. "You're not much use if you can't be around when needed."

"Leave him alone, Steve," Dora rebuked.

Slugger said nothing as he doled out biscuits he'd just taken from the oven.

Irrepressible Ron piped up. "You shoulda been there! We got him cornered in a paddock and I lassoed him proper..." He proceeded to describe the roundup attempt in avid detail, concluding with, "Then the vet shot at him with his tranquilizer gun but he missed and then he up and went over the fence and ran away. Took off with me best rope."

"You owe us an explanation!" Steve insisted, flinging a black look across the table.

Dora was conciliatory. "We were very worried about you, but the important thing is that you're back safe."

_Speak for yourself_, Steve thought.

Bernard was hunching his shoulders defensively. "Sorry guys... I really don't know what happened."

Steve was unappeased. "Why can't you just admit you went to the village and got drunk... or worse..."

"I can't very well admit to something I don't remember doing," Bernard retorted.

"Did Ron hook you up with some of his junkie friends, was that it?"

"Here now, don't go blamin' me!" the redhead yelped.

"That damned horse of yours could have... _ack!_" Whatever Steve was about to say was cut off as a large booted foot connected with his ankle under the table.

"That'll be enough, Steve," Slugger advised.

Sitting at Steve's right and across from Bernard, Dora suddenly realized that even though Dottie had been in and out of the kitchen several times, Bernard wasn't displaying any of the anxiety that had plagued him earlier. She recalled that after breakfast on Tuesday he'd hung back for some sort of private conference with Slugger and the housekeeper. At the time she hadn't given it a second thought. And now she wondered what all that had been about.

Dottie plunked herself down at the foot of the table, facing Slugger at the head and deftly diverting the conversation to a safer topic. With six at board, the old farm table had almost reached maximum capacity.

"Edward and I were having a look at the gardens, or what used to be the gardens. Perhaps you're not aware that he's mad keen on gardening only he's never had time to deal with it, so we've come to an arrangement. He'll continue to cook breakfast and other meals on my off days. But from now on I'll be doing luncheon and supper... if that meets with your approval, Dora."

Dora fought to conceal her astonishment at Slugger's having so easily yielded his cooking domain. He'd been none too agreeable about her cookery classes and stated intentions of sharing meal preparation in future. "Only if you agree to take meals with us, Dottie."

"We'll see. Now, I think that with a tiny adjustment to the household budget we can manage to..." and she was off on a discussion of plans for overhauling the landscaping around the farmhouse.

Dora listened attentively and agreed to everything. She hadn't yet got that far ahead in her renovation plans and it would be wonderful to have someone taking over that portion who knew about gardening and didn't have a brown thumb.

Bernard had said nothing further until the platter of scrambled eggs was passed his way. Turning an unsavory shade of green, he bolted from the table and made straight for the loo.

With breakfast concluded, Dottie began clearing the table and Dora repaired upstairs to change into clothes suitable for a shopping expedition. As Slugger was dispensing marching orders to his two remaining foot soldiers, a blue-and-white Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow with dark tinted windows purred to a halt just outside the kitchen door. An elegantly attired blonde woman got out of the driver's seat, coming around the front of the car and waving at them through the window. She didn't bother knocking but came right in, greeting everyone in her downhome style. Everyone immediately jumped to their feet, Slugger making an effort to suck in his gut.

"Hello, Elle," Dottie said. "Tea?"

"Hey how are ya, Dot. Nah. Thanks anyway. My girls're all in a lather to go spend some money. Dora 'bout ready?"

"She'll be down in a tick... make that two or three ticks," Dottie said easily. "Why don't you bring your young ladies in and introduce them while you're waiting?"

Elayne stuck her head out the door and emitted a strident whistle, gesturing to the unseen passengers in the car to come on in. Three young women emerged and filed into the kitchen.

The three men were gobsmacked at what were possibly the most exotic specimens of womanhood ever seen in these parts, with glowing amber eyes, flawless café au lait complexions and deep brunette hair pulled straight back into French braids that fell to their waists. Elayne made the introductions: "This is Mr. Slugger Jones and this is my friend Mrs. Dorothy Doyle."

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Jones, Madame Doyle," the twins chorused with dazzling smiles.

"And this is my niece, Marie-Solánge, and my great-nieces, Marie-Thérèse and Marie-Françoise—twins, as you can see." Terry and Frankie, as they asked to be called, were perhaps sixteen or seventeen.

"These two splendid young men are Steve Ross and Ronald Stryker." The splendid young men themselves were speechless as the beauties presented their hands to be shaken.

The obviously much older woman graced Slugger with a smile that revealed traceries of laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. "I am very pleased to meet you, Monsieur Jones," she said in a velvety soft voice with just the merest hint of an accent that Slugger figured must be French.

"Just... Slugger. I'm... uh... pleased ta meetcher as well, missus," he stammered. She gracefully spread the fingers of her unattached left hand, exhibiting a broad golden band on her ring finger. "Please... call me Solánge." Slugger suddenly realized he was still holding her right hand and dropped it like a hot potato.

As Dotty stepped forward to welcome Solánge as well, recognition of their common status was automatic and she understood without being told that this one was the mother of the other two, and that for some reason that relationship wasn't being publicized.

"Elayne says you have a house guest—a relation of ours, another American? I should like to say hello to him."

Dottie glanced at Slugger. Although the distressing sounds of wretching had subsided, the door to the lavatory remained firmly closed.

"We do... but the young gentleman is indisposed at the moment. Another time, perhaps?" Dottie answered smoothly. She fancied she saw a shadow of something like concern cross the other's face.

"Nothing too serious, one hopes."

"No, not serious at all... just uncomfortable and inconvenient, for him." Dottie hoped she was right. A flicker of intuition blossomed into a brilliant flash of illumination. A tiny smile and a slight inclination of the head in her direction by Elayne confirmed it. Well, well...

Dora burst into the kitchen and the spell was broken. "Sorry, sorry. I'm ready to go now!"

The five women piled into the Roller and it growled to life, bearing them off to the shopping mecca of Leeds. In the kitchen, Dottie threw her head back and guffawed. "If you could just see yourselves! With your eyeballs hanging out at the ends of their stalks!" She leaned close to Slugger and whispered _sotto voce_ behind her hand, "Lady Butler's nieces are quite _bewitching_, aren't they?" and chortled when he twitched.

Presently the menfolk recovered and found their voices. Slugger suggested the remainder of the morning would be best employed in exercising a few of those boarders in Dora's absence. Steve and Ron ambled out the door, still in awe.

"Should one of us go and see about Bernard. He's been in there a long time," Slugger asked.

"Just waiting on them to get gone, I expect," Dottie said, adding cryptically, "Too many of us in one place make them nervous."

"I'm right here." Slugger and Dottie were both startled as Bernard quietly reappeared.

From the looks of him Dottie deduced that strong hot tea was called for and set the kettle on to boil before rejoining Slugger and Bernard, where the latter slumped miserably with his arms crossed on the table.

Dottie's maternal instinct was aroused despite her inbred antagonism toward Bernard and all of his ilk. He looked so pathetic and dispirited. The back of her hand automatically went to his forehead; just as she thought: hot and dry. "Let me see your arm," she commanded, pulling up the sleeve of his tee shirt.

The puncture wound on his shoulder was a hard red welt surrounded by an angry purple bruise. And, as with all his kind when unwell, the color had leached from his eyes. His irises were pale grey, barely distinguishable from the sclera. Dottie couldn't bear to see another living creature in pain and not do anything about it.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." She went to the scullery and rooted around in her carryall, coming up with a vial of brown powder and a baby food jar filled with a evil-looking greasy yellow ointment which she proceeded to spread on the injury. Into a mug of steaming tea she upended the vial of powder.

"He can't have no drugs, he says," Slugger put in. "That's how he got this way in the first place."

"How _did_ I get this way?" Bernard asked.

Slugger explained about the veterinarian's tranquilizer gun.

"I guess I'm lucky I'm not dead as a doornail." Bernard grinned weakly. "What's that stuff you're putting in the tea?"

"Don't ask, don't tell. Believe me, you won't find this in any chemist's shop," Dottie said darkly.

Bernard sniffed the contents of the mug and made a face but drank it anyway, almost gagging at the bitterness.

"This will take a few hours to work, but it _will_ work," she advised. She folded her hands together and leaned across the table toward him. "What will work even better is for you to go back to that place where Dora found you and let the water spirit do what she will. For all her failings, that Myrtice always was a good sort and used to be a very good healer. It appears she's taken a liking to you."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Not just yet... perhaps in a few hours. I take it your mission isn't progressing as well as you would like?" Dottie asked gently, almost sympathetically.

"Doesn't seem to be. And that's what I need to talk to you about. I've got the ball rolling... Steve's doing some serious thinking about the future, for instance. And I've tried to get Dora to understand that just wishing for him to approach her of his own accord won't make it happen. She's got to make an effort, too. But things aren't moving along fast enough. He's got to make a commitment to her by Saturday night and she's got to make him make it. It has to happen before the birthday party and I'm running out of time. I'm afraid we're gonna have to go with Plan B."

"How can we help?" Dottie asked, replenishing their tea.

"I have a couple of ideas but I'll need Slugger's assistance with Steve and your's with Dora."

"Let's start with Edward, then. What do you want him to do?"

Slugger's head swiveled back and forth like a metronome.

"Steve looks up to you, Slugger..." Bernard began slowly. "He respects you... he needs the advice a father would give about how loving a woman calls for courage and responsibility. How if he lets her slip away he'll regret it the rest of his life. You've got to make it clear to him that it's now or never."

"Been thinkin' about doin' that anyway," Slugger admitted.

"Tomorrow would be good. That'll give you time to work up your presentation and him to chew on it."

"What about Dora?" Dottie asked. "What do you have in mind for her?"

"Ah... well... that's a more delicate matter. Maybe Slugger doesn't need to sit in on this..."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Slugger said sternly. "Anything involves her, I want to hear it."

"As you wish," Bernard shrugged, turning to the housekeeper. "I have six older sisters. I know how women use what they've got to manipulate men..."

"Dora's not that kind of girl!" Slugger objected strenuously. "She's sweet and innocent!"

"Yeah... and that's the problem," Bernard pointed out. "She could use a short course in practical application from someone... another woman... a _mature_ woman."

"You mean about the birds and the bees..."? Slugger choked, his face red with mortification.

"Not that, you ninny!" Dottie scoffed. "At her age I'm sure she already knows where babies come from."

Slugger sputtered in indignation.

"Look," Bernard said, "She's got all the equipment but none of the knowledge. She needs someone who can give her the right instructions on how to use what nature's already provided."

"If you're thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'..." Slugger raised his voice, building up a head of steam.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. Sometime a guy needs a good whomp upside the head before he can see the light, hypothetically speaking. All we have to do is provide Dora with the baseball bat."

Slugger had started to come up out of his chair when Dottie held up an admonishing hand.

"I understand what you're proposing," she said thoughtfully. "In principle I would disapprove of any young lady using her feminine wiles to snare a man. But in practice..." Here she shook her head ruefully. "That's what women have had to do for thousands of years. And if the human race is to endure, that's what they'll have to keep on doing, men being the gutless creatures they are when it comes to matters of the heart."

"However," Dottie continued, "I'm certainly not the woman for the job, no. What you need is someone with a little... a _lot_... more experience in that department... someone like Elayne Butler."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Bernard concluded. "But you're absolutely right."

"I'll talk to Elayne myself."

"Thanks, Miz D.," Bernard said with sincerity. "I'd really appreciate it."

"And I'll do my part, too," Slugger agreed grudgingly.

"Guess I'd better go earn my keep now." Bernard started to get up and dropped back into his chair with a thwump.

"I think not," Dottie said briskly. "The only place you're going, young man, is right back upstairs and into bed!"

In midafternoon the Roller returned, decanting a merry Dora plus a number of parcels, Lady Butler and her trio of nieces. Slugger rushed out to help carry as did Ron and Steve from the stableyard, vaulting the gate in their eagerness. On the pretense of showing off the rejuvenated parlor, Dottie drew Elayne away for a tête-à-tête while Slugger served tea and biscuits in the kitchen. Bernard remained out of sight, purportedly napping upstairs.

As the Butler entourage was ready to leave, Elayne took Dora aside. "Solange and the girls are taking a day trip to the City tomorrow and my manicurist is coming to do my nails. Why don't you show up about noon and we'll get mani-pedi's together, have lunch, go over party plans?" Dora agreed that was a splendid idea.

Steve helped Dora carry her purchases upstairs to her room. "Find what you wanted? Have a good time with your rich friends?"

Dora decided to ignore the heavy sarcasm. "Oh yes! Elle treated us to luncheon at Brown's Bar and Brasserie. It's a new place, just opened. It's been ever so long since I've been anywhere nice or bought any new clothes for myself." She insisted on showing Steve her purchases, except for the lingerie.

Steve winced at her exhuberance, and at her rare smile of pure pleasure. His income didn't run to such extravagances as expensive clothing and meals at fancy restaurants. And it never would. Unless, of course, he moved on to a better paying job... which would mean leaving Follyfoot... and her.

At length Dora shooed him out the door so that she could change back into working afternoon was still young. She came downstairs to find Bernard in the kitchen with Dottie wielding a large pair of shears over a pair of aged and faded jeans with the knees blown out. "How short do you want 'em?"

"Right about there would be fine," he replied, pointing. Dottie lopped the legs off and handed the newly created cutoffs to Bernard, who went off to the lav to change.

"What are those for?" Dora asked, curious.

"Bernard's going for a swim and needed a bathing costume. Apparently this is standard attire these days." Dottie looked doubtful.

Steve had been loitering off to the side with a face like a thundercloud, muttering not quite to himself about layabouts and people who couldn't be depended upon. He looked for all the world like a two-year-old whose most-favored status as an 'only' had unhappily been usurped by the unwanted and unwelcome arrival of a new baby who suddenly sucked up all the attention available in the household, leaving little or none for the 'old' baby.

Though herself an 'only', Dora was familiar with the syndrome, having had it explained to her by mothers frazzled by introducing competition to their firstborns and having to cope with the results. When Slugger, standing with arms crossed next to Steve, made direct eye contact with her and cut his eyes sideways, Dora knew what he was suggesting.

She walked over to Steve and touched him lightly on the cheek—to her own very great surprise... she'd never done that before and didn't know what made her do it now. "Why don't we take a few hours off and go along? I haven't been bathing in years and it's such a beautiful afternoon."

But all Steve did was tense and pull away. "Sorry. I've got other plans, something I need to do in town," he snarled. "But you go right on ahead since you seem to enjoy _his_ company so much. It's not like we've any _work_ to do around here!"

Dora narrowed her eyes, not liking his caustic tone. "I think I will."

Steve turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen while Dora looked after him with dismay. The other two politely pretended they hadn't been party to Steve's little tantrum.

A grey cloud of disappointment smudged what had so far been a nice day. Why couldn't Steve be happy for her? And why couldn't he—every now and then—depart from his rigid schedule and make time to be with her? What other plans could he possibly have, anyway? Steve didn't _have_ a life outside Follyfoot, as she very well knew.

"Ask Bernard to wait up, would you? I'll be right back." By the time she descended the stairs, a knot of resentment had firmly wedged itself in the pit of her stomach. Under her shorts and sleeveless blouse Dora wore her old regulation black maillot from the swim team at her last school, faded but still a perfect fit.

About to step into the LandRover on his invented, nonexistent errand, Steve watched as Dora and Bernard exited by the kitchen door and tried to shake off the old familiar flush of jealousy and resentment. He should have been the one by her side... and he could have been had he not let his own foolish pride get in the way... again. He should have been man enough to admit he couldn't swim. Dora would have understood and would probably have offered to teach him. Angry at himself, he jammed the key into the ignition and ground the gears as he roared away with no particular destination in mind.

**Field Journal: Thursday, September 5, 1974 • 3:00pm**

**Location:** Downstairs bathroom

Feeling much better but still rocky around the edges. What was I thinking? I wasn't... that's the problem... and a great worry. The human element has always (almost always) overriden the other... and yesterday it didn't. SHE will say (about Squirrel) "I told you so." I hate that. I hate being out of control and not remembering what I did or didn't do.

Haven't been this sick since Cousin Eddie and I discovered Granddaddy's moonshine still up in the hills behind the south pasture when we were twelve years old. I feel like I've thrown up stuff I haven't even eaten yet. Hope Myrtice will take pity on me. Worst of all, I've lost an entire afternoon and most of today.

Next step: Light a bonfire under Steve and force him to make a move. How? He's already got a burr under his saddle today on account of me. (If looks could kill!) Maybe should figure on a way to exploit that. When will the 'talk' between Elayne and Dora take place? It has to be soon... no later than tomorrow in any case. Must remember to remind Mrs. Doyle about that. At this point, it doesn't matter who makes the first move, just so someone does something.

Is there any occupation less rewarding and more frustrating than couples counseling? Which is why I've always avoided it. When two people are so far apart, so diametrically opposed in their attitudes, it's next to impossible to achieve a successful resolution. It's like trying to herd chickens.

I'm that close to giving up. And what am I going to tell my alleged future favorite grandson? 'Sorry, Charlie... your old granddad failed to unite your potential future grandfather- and grandmother-in-law, therefore the potential future love of your life will fail to be born.' At least, that's what I extrapolated from what SHE declined to explain—that all of this is geared toward potential future production of a young lady who will (or might) become MY granddaughter-in-law.

OMG! Just realized what this means... that someday I might be related to these people!

CHAPTER 15:_** "Don't let a fool kiss you nor let a kiss fool you" **_• African Proverb

Dora automatically headed for the big lake and Bernard said nothing to divert her, knowing she'd find out soon enough. At the dock, she slipped off a trainer and dipped her toes into the water, snatching her foot back. "Oooooh! It's much colder than I thought it would be!"

Bernard then suggested the pond in the woods, explaining that its thermal spring provided a more comfortable environment. Too, he pointed out, there would be less risk of Dora's becoming sunburned as the pond was mostly tree-shaded. Skirting the bank, they set off around the earth at an unhurried pace and turned onto the trail that circled through Follywood from the north.

Unbeknownst to them, other eyes were charting their change of venue. Boarding up the broken window in the loft, Ron quickly put down his hammer and made his way from the upper stable to the hay barn, skipping out its back door. From there he couldn't be seen as he raced through the west pasture and around the far side of the big lake, hidden behind the treeline. There was no need to keep his quarry in sight; he knew where they were headed. And once he got there, there were plenty of convenient thickets in which to hide and observe whatever they got up to. With any luck he'd be acquiring some choice gossip fodder or even blackmail material!

Back in the kitchen, Dottie was attempting to soothe an agitated Slugger, who'd stepped outside just in time to see the pair leave the larger lake and head for the smaller one.

"No tellin' what'll happen once they're in the water!"

"Calm down, you old goat. This is the twentieth century, not the Victorian era. It's perfectly proper for them to go off unchaperoned and, anyway, they're of age. Besides, Dora has more moral fibre than you give her credit for."

"But..."

"This may work to our advantage," Dottie pronounced. "If Dora's in a receptive frame of mind, Myrtice might be obliging enough to provide just the right boost to the libido that girl needs. With that and the talk she'll be getting from Elayne tomorrow, it might be enough to tip the balance in our favor."

Slugger didn't understand the words but he got the gist of what Dottie meant. "But Dottie, what if he... what if they... what if he tries...?"

"Oh... him. Don't worry about him," Dottie said airily. "I'm certain that one has a mate... and not too far away, either. He's too well-mannered and polite. Someone's trained him up respectful, alright. He won't be doing anything with Dora that she doesn't want done... or even if she _wants _it done." Dottie suddenly realized she had come around one hundred eighty degrees in her thinking: that what she had always regarded as vile and treacherous wasn't necessarily so, and that she was now one hundred percent on Bernard's side.

Slugger's ears were burning. "A mate? You mean... like a wife?"

"Yes, Edward. A wife. A lifelong companion."

"That don't necessarily mean he wouldn't take advantage..."

"No, Edward. You don't understand," Dottie said kindly. "You see, his kind mate young... and for life."

Dora's happy mood evaporated as they approached the point in the circuit where last Sunday she had discovered the intruder swimming in the hidden lake—where the previous year Steve had explained, or thought he was explaining, why they couldn't become lovers. As if on cue, her eyes filled with tears and she didn't even realize she had stopped walking until Bernard stepped in front of her and took both her hands. They sank down on the bank together.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

And it came out, all of it... from the time she had first seen Steve kneeling by an injured horse until their parting a half hour ago after yet another unpleasant exchange.

"I'm sorry... I just can't seem to stop." She wiped her eyes and sniffled. "I shouldn't have dropped all this on you. You're so patient."

"That's what I'm here for, Dora.

A question Dora had meant to ask Elayne came back to her: "Bernard, what's a _loa?_"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Elle called you that, yesterday."

"Ah."

"What did she mean by that?" Dora persisted. "Is it something bad?"

"Depends on who you ask. A _'loa'_ is a spirit horse in the Voudoun... voodoo... religion. Could be good, could be bad."

"Voodoo? Is that... real?"

"Millions of people all over the world believe so." Which didn't really answer her question. "What else did Elayne tell you about me?"

"She said you weren't what you seemed... but that I should listen to you."

"Just what I've been trying to tell you all along. So here's where you get to listen. Okay? The thing is, I don't have very much time to accomplish what I came here to do. I've already stepped way outside protocol and told you some things I wouldn't ordinarily share, the other day when we were fixing up the family room..."

"Uh huh."

"Oh come on, Dora... you said you believed me then. Don't you believe me now?"

"I'm not completely convinced. But keep going. This is very entertaining."

Bernard sighed. "To recap... some people in another dimension discovered a problem here in this one—one that affects your future, and they've sent me to help you fix it.

"I see. And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?"

"I'm not going to _do_ anything... _you_ are. And Steve. I'm just the mediator. Well... with Elayne's help, it looks like."

"What's Elle got to do with it?"

"Elayne is a witch... a good witch, or what people call a 'white witch.' She wants to help you and Steve find the right path. So does Mrs. Doyle. So do I. But none of us are allowed to use magic of any kind... just, I guess you could call it, influence."

"I see. First you tell me my housekeeper is a witch and now you're saying my best friend is, too?" She spoke with brittleness.

"Mrs. Doyle is... I don't know how she factors in here, or even if she's supposed to. I wasn't warned about her and her miserable familiar," he said frankly.

"What? You're saying Queen Maude is her familiar... that's hysterical!" Dora dissolved in a fit of hiccups and giggles.

"You don't believe a single thing I've said, do you?"

"No. Of course not. But you do tell such good tales and make me laugh. What are you, then, some kind of witch or wizard?"

"No. I'm something else altogether, but that's not important. Can we move on here?"

"Of course."

Bernard had lost the momentum of his exposé. "So do you, um... have any questions so far?"

Dora picked up the thread as calmly as if they had been discussing the weather. "I do, yes. First, how can you possibly expect me to believe such rubbish?"

Bernard took her literally. "I didn't think you would but I was hoping you might; it would've made my job easier, that's for sure."

"Second, even if I were to believe it, what gives you or anyone the right to meddle in my life?"

"Hey look... it wasn't my idea, believe me. Don't shoot me... I'm just the errand boy."

"Third, you're assuming that I still _want_ Steve. How do you know I haven't given up and decided I'm going to start seeing other men?" Her arms were tightly crossed and she was looking at him strangely. "Or perhaps that I might have _already_ found another man I fancy... another _different_ sort of man that I've discovered I really like. Can you answer me that, Bernard?"

"But isn't that what you want... what you and Steve both want... to be together?" It was Bernard's turn to be confused.

"I have no idea what _he_ wants," she spat. "Look, Bernard, I've decided... in fact, just last Sunday, I made up my mind... I'm through waiting. Three years is long enough. There are plenty of other men who'd like... who have asked... to take me out, and I'm going to say yes to the next one who does! Steve Ross can just... go jump in the lake."

"Unfortunately, that's what I'm here to avert," Bernard said morosely, looking down. "If you hook up with some other guy at your birthday party—either someone you already know or someone you meet there—and you end up marrying him instead, that event _will _alter the course of history."

"You are barking mad if you believe that."

"So I've heard. Come on, let's swim before it gets too late." Bernard pulled off his tee shirt and looked from the water back to her questioningly.

"Dora, you ever gone skinnydipping?" he asked casually.

She blushed to the roots of her hair. "Certainly not. What an absurd question!"

"Why not? It was good enough for Adam and Eve. Girl, you need to lighten up. Seriously."

To her utter astonishment, he turned his back to her, shucked the cutoffs and dove into the pond headfirst, gliding underwater and coming up for air when he was more than halfway across. He caught a brief glimpse of Dora poised at the far bank in her simple black maillot, having stripped off her blouse and shorts, before she too dove in gracefully. He carefully imprinted his vision of her at that instant for later posting in his journal.

The pond was deep and clear and pleasantly warm. Dora fancied she could see all the way to its sandy bottom. It seemed to be devoid of aquatic life and vegetation as well, unlike the larger lake. She made a few vigorous laps back and forth before rolling over and floating on her back, eyes closed, giving in to the soporific warmth lent by the thermal springs below. As she alternately swam and floated and ducked beneath the surface, she sensed rather than felt a friendly presence—not Bernard, who kept a discreet distance. A languid well-being stole over her, penetrating her pores, and she experienced a pleasant prickly sensation in her fingers and toes as if being nibbled at by tiny fishes.

The maelstrom in her mind gradually subsided and in its place arose a sense of empowerment... and of freedom and purpose and resolve. In a moment of reckless abandonment she pulled off her maillot underwater and threw it up on the bank. And went back to floating. So what if he saw everything. It no longer mattered. But perhaps it would have had she known that sweaty-palmed Ron was getting an eyeful from his hiding place in the bushes.

Bernard silently floated at an unintrusive remove, watchful, and on a deeply subconscious level communicating with the spirit who dwelled there and thanking her for her benevolence in healing his physical hurts and Dora's psychical ones.

Gradually Dora became aware of her name being called and righted herself to find Bernard decently attired and sitting cross-legged on the bank.

"Time we were getting back, Little Mermaid," he called as she paddled toward him.

"But we only just got here!" she complained.

Bernard grinned and shook his head. "You've been in there an hour, girl. No sense overdoing it."

He automatically got to his feet and courteously turned around before Dora scrambled up onto the bank to examine her pruney fingers and toes. "Oh! I didn't realize..." As she dried herself off with her towel and pulled on her clothes she noted that his hair was already dry. Evidently he'd been out of the water a good while, just sitting there... watching. She should have been embarrassed... but she wasn't.

they retraced their earlier steps along the trail without speaking until they reached the farm track. Instead of turning north toward the buildings, Dora crossed over and hiked along the scrim of trees on the south side of the larger lake. "Come along. There's a lovely view of Follyfoot from this side of the water." She ducked onto a smaller path that led upward to a narrow bank wide enough for pedestrian traffic but not substantial enough for a horse. Follyfoot's compound was visible in its entirety on the far shore. The sun was lowering in the sky. A thin skein of smoke trickled from the chimney of the farmhouse. The LandRover wasn't to be seen in its customary parking place, so Steve wasn't back yet. Dora and Bernard stood side by side enjoying the vista in companionable silence.

Turning to face Bernard, Dora looked at him speculatively. "I'll bet _you've_ kissed lots of girls."

His guard instantly went up. "A few, I guess. Not so many."

"Tell me about your first kiss... what was it like?"

"Oh... _that_..." Bernard grinned wickedly. "It was one of those impulsive moments... you know... when something comes over you and you act before thinking. Her name was Mary Sue and she sure was cute. It was a lot more exciting than I expected. She punched me in the face and later on her older brother beat me up and broke my nose. I think I was about eight at the time..."

Dora hooted and poked him in the arm. "That's not what I meant and you know it! I meant the first time you _really _kissed someone..."

Inadvertently, she'd led the conversation right back around to the subject Bernard been trying to find an appropriate way to broach. He hesitated a few moments...

"We'd known each other since we were kids. We were best friends and hung out together forever."

"Then what?"

"We grew up." Bernard shrugged. "I fell in love with her but never dared say anything... never asked her out on a date. Our friendship was too important to me to risk losing it by putting her in the embarrassing position of having to tell me she didn't feel the same way. She was so beautiful and I was... well, what you see is what you get."

"Then what happened?"

"One day she looked me right in the eye and said, 'Time to put on your big boy briefs and man up, Boo.' And then _she_ kissed _me_."

"You're making that up!"

"Nope... that's how it happened."

"But... weren't you worried you wouldn't get it right?"

"I was stunned... petrified at first. I'd just turned seventeen and I'd never kissed _any_ girl _that_ way before. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, but that was okay because she did. It was like... everything around us disappeared and there was only the two of us."

"I've never been kissed... like that," Dora admitted, adding, "But I want to be."

"You're kidding?" Bernard was incredulous. "You and Steve never...?"

"Not ever, by him or anyone."

"Well, don't worry about it, Dora. It sorta comes natural. You'll see."

"Does it?"

A long interval of silence ensured as they both looked out over the placid waters of the lake. Dora spoke without looking at Bernard.

"So... this girlfriend... are you still together.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Yes. Yes, we are." Bernard could practically hears the gears whirring as Dora stood perfectly still.

"You said... you've said several times... that you're here to help me."

"That is correct, yes."

"It was never about the horses, was it? It's about me and Steve, right?"

Bernard hemmed and hawed but admitted that that also was correct.

"You've been using psychology to get us both to think in new directions, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have." Bernard answered uncomfortably.

"I think... for the most part, it's working. For instance, Steve suddenly becoming interested in going back to school... that's a major step forward."

"Glad to hear it."

"And I'm beginning to understand about having to take responsibility myself as well... if he and I are to have any kind of future together."

"Yep. Good breakthrough, there. I'm happy you're seeing that."

"So what you're saying is, I need to make the first move on Steve?"

"It does look that way, doesn't it? Back home we'd call that a preemptive strike."

"Unfortunately, there are some significant gaps in my knowledge... some things I need to learn."

"What kind of gaps?"

Bernard should have seen it coming right there and then... but he didn't.

Dora turned and flung her arms around his neck. "And _you... _are going to teach me!"

"Whaaaaaat?" Bernard squeaked and tried to back away but she was a lot stronger than she looked.

"Your girlfriend is thousands of miles away... what she doesn't know about won't hurt her."

"Dora, I..."

"Kiss me." She pooched out her lips like a goldfish and screwed her eyes shut. When nothing happened she opened one eye cautiously. She could see that Bernard was stifling a laugh.

"What's so funny? I'm trying to learn something here," she pouted.

The smile left his face. "Are you're serious?"

"Of course I am. Just... tell me what to do. If I'm to dive on Steve, I'll need to know how to go about it." She wrapped her arms tighter. "Can we make this a crash course? I don't have that much time if, as you say, the deadline is Saturday. What about French kissing? Isn't that supposed to be erotic? I don't even know what that is."

"Whoa! Time out! Back up!"

"Just tell me what to do."

"Dora, this isn't..."

"Please Bernard... don't make me beg."

"Uh... well... first of all... let go of my neck... you're cutting off circulation."

"Oh... sorry." She let go. "Now what?"

"Um... let's see... since we're the same height, you _could_ put your hands on my shoulders... but since Steve's a little taller, this might be better..." He positioned her arms at either side of his torso beneath the unbuttoned shirt. Direct dermal contact with smooth warm skin was a new and quite pleasurable experience for Dora; her hands tightened involuntarily.

"Okay... that's good except you're not bulldogging a steer..."

"Oops... sorry again." She loosened her grip. "How's this? Better?"

"Better. Now, tilt your head a little to the side... yeah, like that... so you won't bump noses. No... don't close your eyes all the way... you want to see what you're aiming at. Soft focus, Dora! Or your eyes will cross. Then you want to pucker up just a little... no, not like you're sucking lemons... maybe a little more natural?"

"Like so? Shouldn't we be standing closer together?"

"No... no... this is close enough. By now he'll have figured out what's coming... so he's gonna do one of three things... either he's just going to stand still and do nothing—in which case he's probably gay and you might as well give up... or he'll run off... or..."

"Oh! Do you think he might?'

"Only if he's an idiot. Or... as I was saying... he'll do something like this..." Bernard placed his hands on her bare shoulders so delicately that she hardly felt them there, and stroked gently to her elbows. "Or he might do like so..." Bernard gingerly cupped his hands on either side of her face. "That would be the normal response. You put your hands on me... on him, I mean, and I... he, that is, puts his hands on you."

"Are we going to kiss or are we going to dance?" Dora demanded.

"Patience, Grasshopper!" Bernard chided. "Okay... So now you want to look deep into his eyes... no, Dora... not like you're examining a bug under a microscope. Put some feeling into it. Think sexy."

But what Dora was thinking was... _apples_... and, belatedly, _'she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat'_... The air surrounding them was suffused with the winey scent of apple cider.

"Then you kiss him very gently, very softly at first... like a butterfly on a flower. Like this... barely touching." Bernard tentatively put his lips to hers for only a fraction of a second before drawing back. "You understand?"

"Yes... I think so... but..."

"But what?"

"I thought it would be more... well, passionate."

"You kinda have to work your way up to that, Dora."

"How do you mean?"

"Uh... you want to start off with a few exploratory kisses... after the first couple of times you'll be able to gauge distance to impact so you won't be knocking out each other's bridgework."

"This is a lot more complicated than I imagined," Dora complained.

Bernard sighed. "Let me put it another way then... you want to approach him just as you would a skittish horse for the first time. You don't want to spook him so you move real easy, right?"

"Right."

"Okay... so, butterfly kisses... it doesn't have to be on the mouth... it can be temples, nose, jawline, neck, throat..."

Dora stood ramrod still as Bernard illustrated his narrative with a feather soft kiss at each of the points indicated.

"And every now and then..." He kissed her on the mouth again, a little more firmly. "How does that feel?"

"Good. Kind of tingly."

"Feels good to me, too... I mean, it'll feel good to him, too. By now he should be getting with the program and putting one arm around you—kinda like this—and the other hand at the back of your head, to sort of pull you closer."

There was still a good four inches of open space between them, which Bernard was nervously trying to maintain.

"Can I try it now?" Dora whispered.

"Well... okay... but just remember... easy does it."

She followed his instructions to the letter. "How was that?"

"Not bad at all for a beginner."

"Is this when we do it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The passionate kiss... is this when we do it?"

"Geez, Dora... don't be in such an all-fired rush. Give me... give Steve, I mean... a chance to take over the lead."

"How do I know when to stop and let him kiss me back?"

"There's no particular time limit here... a guy would have to be close to death to not be kissing you back by now."

Bernard was starting to perspire and Dora was feeling unaccountably warm.

"So that's all there is to it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Okay... I think I've got that part. Now I want you to _show_ me."

"Show you?"

"The passionate kiss... I want to know what it really feels like, so I'll know for sure when I get one."

"Oh... er... I don't think..."

She pressed up against him. "I want you to kiss me now... like you mean it."

"Like... how do you mean?"

"Kiss me like I'm your girlfriend... like a woman you want to make love with."

Whatever else he was, Bernard was a healthy, young—for the present, anyway—human male confronted with irresistible temptation, as prone to weakness under duress as any other. _"Hic sunt dracones,"_ he murmured... and did as she asked.

Bernard tasted of apples... deliciously tart and yet intoxicatingly sweet. Yes, this was exactly what she meant and she felt it right down to her toes, just as thrilling as promised in the prurient forbidden novels. Unconsciously she melded her body to his, clearly understanding what was meant by wanting to tear someone's clothes off. A whole new world of desire presented itself to her and... for a single blazing moment... she forgot about Steve.

Never in her life had Dora experienced such close body contact with a male, other than her father when she was a little girl and he'd taken her into his lap for a cuddle. As she grew up, however, he'd become markedly less physical... especially after her mother had voiced the opinion that such embraces were acceptable only upon greeting or leavetaking. Somehow she'd envisioned the feeling of being held closely as something akin to the many instances when Slugger had given her a brief hug of consolation or celebration... or the rare occasions Steve or even Ron had lain an arm across her shoulders and dispensed a restrained squeeze for the same reasons. But this... this was nothing at all like that. She couldn't bring herself to disengage.

A buzzing in her ears resolved itself into Bernard's alarmed voice as he arched his body away to minimize contact and frantically attempted to disentangle himself from her embrace all at the same time. He succeeded in holding her back at arm's length. Both were trembling and breathing hard.

"We'd better stop... remember, this is just a demo, not the real thing."

"I want you..." she whispered. "I want to know about the next part, too... the making love part."

Bernard rolled his eyes and tried to look stern. "Look Dora, I can get you out of the starting gate but I'm not about to take you over the finish line as well."

"You're not attracted to me, is that it?" she asked plaintively.

"No... I mean, yes. You're more than attractive..."

"But you don't find me desirable? I'm too gauche for you, aren't I?" She withdrew her arms and took a step back uncertainly, eyes brimming.

Bernard reached out and placed a finger on her lips. "Oh no, no! Dora... listen to me, please. You're desirable in every way... in _every_ way, you know what I'm saying? Really, I'm honored that you chose me as your tutor and under other cirumstances..."

"What other circumstances? What's wrong with _me_. I _want_ to. Don't you?"

"I can't do that, Dora. I can't... and there's this ethical issue... I'm just the coach, not... um... something else. And, for another thing, this isn't the best place. Anyone can see us." He nodded toward the farmhouse.

"So? I don't care," she said stubbornly. "We'll go some other place... somewhere private."

"Well I care. And it's not really me you want. It's Steve, the man you love, remember? Think Dora... think. You're doing this for Steve... because you want him to love you... you want to please him..."

Her face cleared as rationality returned and desire ebbed. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm making a spectacle of myself and putting you in an untenable position."

Bernard was smiling again. "Not at all. You're a quick study and a born kisser... born to be kissed as well. Now that you know how it's done, just go ahead and do it. Don't wait for him to take the initiative because you might be waiting a long time."

"And will he... will that happen?" Her eyes dipped downwards the involuntary physiological response which had quite impressively made itself evident.

"Most likely," he continued, embarrassed now, "We have a sayin' where I come from: 'Once you got 'em by the ba... gonads, their hearts and minds will follow'."

Dora considered this and smiled back. "Might I have just one more, then? For practice?"

Bernard smoothed her hair away from her face. "Just one more... for luck."

The second kiss was brief but tender... with a judicious amount of open space between them.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Equanimity and humor restored, they started back toward the farm track.

"I can't believe I did what I just did... or that I'll be able to do it again with _him_."

"Sure you will. If you want to get his complete, undivided attention, that'll do it. It's called using the element of surprise to gain the advantage. Getting him to admit how much he needs you is going to take a lot more work."

"I'm not sure that he feels that way... that he needs me."

"Of course he does... desperately... but he's frightened of commitment and equally afraid of losing you. That's sort of like wanting to have your cake and eat it, too. And he's got no self-confidence whatsoever. It's up to you to show him the way. You'll need a game plan."

"And you're going to give me one?"

"Nope. Not me. The next part of your strategy needs to come from another woman and Elayne is just the right one to help you out with that."

"But... I thought you didn't like her?"

"I don't... but we understand and acknowledge what each other represents."

"She said something like that about you, too."

"Elayne is... she has experience and insight I don't have."

"Because she's a woman... or because she's a witch?"

"Yeah... that too."

Darting from tree to tree, Ron had tracked the pair as they moved from the pond to the bigger lake, where the lack of thick undergrowth proved problematic. He'd had to settle for concealment in a clump of hazelnut bushes which afforded a view of the couple but was too far away to overhear their conversation. At the pond, he'd been able to hear almost everything but see very little. But what Ron Stryker wasn't able to see or hear was compensated for by his fertile imagination. As he hotfooted back the way he'd originally come, taking care—he thought—to stay out of sight, his mind was already concocting a lurid tale to be passed along at an appropriate moment.

Earlier, Dottie had summoned Slugger upstairs to help move the wardrobe in Dora's room so that she could hoover the carpet underneath. While waiting for her to finish so that they could move it back, Slugger was looking out at the lake from one of the south-facing windows as Bernard and Dora exited the treeline onto the south bank. He must have made some sort of noise that got Dottie's attention, down on her knees and running the wand underneath the bed. She clicked off the machine.

"What's so interesting?"

"Bernard and Dora... they've just come out of the woods and are standin' by the lake."

"And so? What are they doing?"

"Just standin'... talkin'. Wonder what they're talkin' about?"

"Our little problem, is what one hopes." Dottie got to her feet and joined him at the window just in time to witness Dora advancing on Bernard.

"Bugger!" Slugger swore. "What's going on? Your eyesight's better than mine... what _are_ they doing? Are they snoggin'?" he squawked.

"It looks like they're just cuddling... oh wait... no... now she's got her arms around his chest... oh no... now he's..."

"He'd better not be kissing her!" Slugger growled ominously.

Dottie's voice rose in pitch as she continued relaying the play-by-play like a commentator at a football match.

"Looks like he's... damn!... can't see anything with all that hair in the way... he's got her by the back of the head... now she's... they're... oh my word!" Dottie's eyes grew huge and she was fanning herself vigorously with a feather duster.

"Now _that's_ what I call a kiss!" she declared with unabashed admiration before letting slip a _very_ bad word.

"Dorothy!"

They had looked at each other with dismay... either the plan had gone terribly awry in some way... or Bernard had lied to them. Worse... they knew they weren't the only witnesses. Visible to them but not to Dora and Bernard, a carrot-topped figure scurried along a dip in the west pasture, obviously having come from the treeline and making for the backside of the hay barn.

Dora's heart was still palpitating and her head whirling with disparate chunks of information as she and Bernard slowly made their way toward the house. At least she now had the answer to one of her concerns: a passionate kiss could indeed knock your personal planet right off its axis. In the back of her mind a plot was already hatching: how and when to corner Steve alone. By the time they arrived at the stone gatepost at the corner of the yard the sun was setting and the western sky lit with a golden glow.

The LandRover pulled up as they went into the house to change into working clothes. Both were too preoccupied to notice the strained, worried looks on Slugger's and Dottie's faces or, as they went about evening chores, that Ron was being uncharacteristically quiet and Steve managing to appear mad and sad at the same time.

Dottie had laid on roasted chicken with wild rice and steamed vegetables for supper, which was consumed with an unusual lack of camaraderie among the crew. Dora and Bernard volunteered to get started on the washing up. Steve and Ron adjourned to the family room to read and let their meals settle. Slugger escorted Dottie out to her car, where she stood on her tiptoes and whispered conspiratorially in his ear. He nodded affirmatively.

When Slugger reentered the scullery, Dora looked up brightly. "We'll take care of this. You go and relax." Instead, Slugger directed a penetrating and unmistakeably hostile glare in Bernard's direction before gesturing toward the door and offering his arm to Dora. "Walk with me, girl, would you? Bernard can finish up."

Slugger and Dora strolled arm-in-arm down to the lake and sat together on the wooden bench on the dock. Dora lifted her face to the not-quite-full moon that was just peeking over the tops of the hills, waiting for Slugger to speak though she already had a pretty good idea of what was coming.

"Girl... Dora..." he commenced quietly without looking at her. "You know I care for you... all of you... like you was my own flesh and blood..."

"Yes, Slugger. We do know that... and we feel the same way." She took his hand and squeezed it gently. "We know you love us... and we love you back."

Slugger cleared his throat. "I allus hoped I'd have a daughter of me own someday. You won't take it wrong if I speak as if you was?"

"I'd be honored if you did, Slugger. My own father can't be bothered. He wouldn't really know how anyway."

Dora sighed deeply and fell silent. They sat without words for a few more minutes.

"I have to ask... did anything... er... happen, out there in the woods today?"

"Anything... like what?"

They turned their heads toward each other. Slugger couldn't read her expression.

"Between you and him... did he?... did you?... you know..." He couldn't get the words out.

"Slugger! No, of course not! We went swimming in the lake. It was Bernard's idea. I don't know why no one ever suggested doing that before. It was lovely. I wish Steve had gone with but he decided he had better things to do."

"Because he don't know how to swim, girl, and don't like to admit it."

"Oh. I never knew that."

"Just swimming, was it?"

"Just swimming. Why do you ask?"

"That's okay, then."

Another few minutes ticked by.

"We saw the both of you kissin' out there, me and Dottie."

There was a long considered pause before Dora spoke. "It wasn't what you think, Slugger."

"I may be old but I ain't dead yet," Slugger rebutted.

"I've never been kissed before. Not like that... not... with passion."

"And what made it that Bernard's business to change that, I'd like to know?"

"I asked him—I wanted to learn, to know how it felt—he showed me. That's all."

"Looked like more'n that to me."

"I _am_ of age to kiss whomever I like, you know," Dora reminded him gently but firmly. "Kissing isn't a sin far as I know, if both parties are willing."

"It should have been Steve, not that Bernard."

"Yes, it should have been," she agreed. "But Steve won't come around so don't blame Bernard. He really didn't want to, but he just did as I asked."

Slugger hmmphed.

"Somethin's changed this week... ever since that American showed up, ain't been nothin' but trouble. Just you bein' you... an' him bein'... whatever." Slugger waved a hand around helplessly. "You and Steve been havin' a enough hard time just gettin' to know and understan' each other. That Bernard's like a... a fox in the henhouse. Got you all riled up. I always hoped you two... Steve and you... would eventually come to an understandin'. I don't usually go interferin' with young folks' business, but I can't stand by and see that Bernard hurt you... either one a you... him turnin' your head with his foreign ways. It would break both yer hearts if you lost each other."

He had run down. "Just don't want to see either of you hurt," he concluded gruffly.

"Please don't worry so, Slugger. No one's turning my head or anything else. Bernard's been a perfect gentleman. I needed some help making up my mind about Steve and Bernard offered good advice. At least, I hope it's good advice. I won't know until I try. Since Steve won't kiss me first, then I'll have to be the one to do it. Except I didn't know how. I asked Bernard to show me the proper moves and he did. That's all there is to it."

"So he was just schoolin' you, so to speak?" Slugger said.

Dora chuckled, "If you want to put it that way. It was like... learning how to dance, where to put your hands and all. I just hope I remember everything he said and can get it right when the time comes."

"And when d'ya think that might be?"

"Oh... soon... very soon."

"Well... all right. I just hope you know what you're doin'."

Dora was overwhelmingly grateful for this kind-hearted man's devotion to her welfare—more than her own biological parents had ever shown—and she loved him for that. Too, she loved him for his concern for the two young males he had also taken under his wing, aggravating though they were at times. She was acutely aware that concealed under the bumbling, inept exterior was a very smart man who took his responsibilities seriously and did his utmost to help guide his charges through the snares and pitfalls of youth. On the other hand, she also knew that Slugger had his own demons, fear of the unknown being one of them. And because of that, she decided it would be prudent not present any of the claims Bernard had made earlier. She also forewent describing that fleeting moment when all thoughts of Steve had been supplanted by a pair gooseberry-green eyes glittering like liquid crystals... and a kiss sweeter than apple wine.

They walked back toward the house as the moon cleared the hilltops, illuminating the farm in its clear lambent light.

Outside the door, Dora stopped and took Slugger's hands in hers. "Promise you won't say anything to Bernard tonight... please? He's embarrassed enough as it is and it's all my fault. I know you're displeased with us... with me. Can we talk about this tomorrow when Dottie's here and Steve and Ron are busy somewhere else?"

Although he promised to keep schtum, Slugger couldn't trust himself to hold to it if he had to face Bernard again tonight. Keeping his counsel during dinner had taken every ounce of self-control he could muster. He agreed to take his newspaper and repair to his new domain in the family room where Steve and Ron were still taking their ease and reading. Dora turned into the scullery, saying she'd join them later.

Bernard had finished drying dishes and was waiting for her to show him where they were kept when not in use.

"Read you the riot act, did he?"

"Not really. He's just concerned for my welfare. I explained that I was the one who started it but I'm afraid that didn't make him any happier."

Bernard sighed. "I take my share of the blame. I should have stopped it before it got that far."

Dora made him turn around to face her. "No. I'm glad it happened. You're the one who's given me the courage to do what I have to do. No one else could have. I'm not sorry at all. Are you?"

Bernard gave her a grin. "No... not yet. But I have a feeling I will be."

"I'm going to make coffee and take it in to the others... will you come and join us?"

"No, sweetie. I think I'd better just brush my teeth and get on up to bed, if you don't mind. This may be the last peaceful evening we're gonna see around here for a while."

**Field Journal: Thursday, September 5, 1974 • 11:57pm**

**Immediate location:** Bedroom

**Results:** You would think—after all these years of staunchly practicing passive resistance against nubile coeds offering to barter personal services for passing grades—that I would have developed a more substantial immunity to a young woman's charms. You would think! Granted, Dora's needs didn't exactly fall into that category, but the parallel was close enough. I was totally unprepared for what happened. I am totally shocked at how easily and quickly a straightforward lesson in human relations can go so far awry. I am totally appalled at close we came—could have come—to crossing the line.

And I have to ask myself this... if she knew the truth about the real me—the 2010 version—would she be shocked, disgusted, repelled... or would she have still found a temporary mentor in an older, experienced tutor? And if I'd been the actual 1974 version of me—with no attendant agenda—would I have allowed events to evolve to their natural conclusion? I would like to believe I'm more honorable than that... but... sometimes a man's his own worst enemy. (Viz. Steve Ross) And I'm only human (mostly).

I was clinging to the remote possibility that we weren't seen but that hope went in the toilet the minute Slugger gave me the hairy eyeball after supper when Dora and I were cleaning up. So far this hasn't been my lucky week. I fear I may have sautéed my own goose. Most likely I won't be needing Captain Doctor to get me back to the next century—Slugger or Steve will dropkick me there.

This incident has either resolved or exacerbated the situation depending on what Dora does with her newly acquired knowledge. If she feels she's now equipped to opt for the preemptive strike, I'm reasonably confident Steve will reciprocate in kind. Would be helpful if she first goes to Elayne for additional coaching in the horizontal aspects of romance... as one so often leads to the other.

**Technical issues:** This was less an out-of-control event than an out-of-body experience—probably the closest I'll ever come to having one. I was aware of what was happening the entire time... and at the same time standing on the sideline being mortified, thinking "What am I doing?!" Apparently pheromones and hormones are not rendered as ineffective by age as I had assumed.

**Plan:** As Plan B has already been activated, though not in a manner I would have envisioned, Steve's going to hear about this... no doubt about that. If that doesn't incite him to some kind of admission or declaration, preferably public, nothing will. I expect all I have to do now is wait.

**Note to self:** I'm fairly sure this wasn't what SHE had in mind when she said "go thou and educate the girl". Throwing a liplock on the fair Dora wasn't even remotely on my to-do list. Can one trust that forty years of fidelity override a few minutes of minor transgression a humanitarian cause? A more important question is, was it right or wrong to comply with Dora's request? Not my call to make. I foresee much creative grovelling and praying for leniency in my future... unless SHE already knew what would transpire and is prepared to make allowances.

**PART SEVEN • FRIDAY**

CHAPTER 16:_** "It is not love that is blind, but jealousy" **_• Lawrence Durrell

Dora had slept fitfully and woke up well before the alarm went off. She quietly slipped from her room, pulling her dressing gown over her nightdress, and tiptoed down the stairs to encounter Slugger emerging from his bedroom as well. The sky outside the kitchen window was still dark as they waited for the kettle to boil and discussed trivial matters in lowered tones, carefully avoiding touchy subjects. Her feisty determinations of the day before had somehow waned during the night, leaving just a faint aura of boldness... but enough to be readily apparent that the old compliant Dora had checked out. The new Dora possessed an edge.

They were still sitting there when they heard a car approaching and the crunch of gravel as it stopped outside the mudroom door. Slugger glanced at the mantel clock and frowned—too early for the housekeeper. Dora stood up and turned around to peer out the window.

"Omigosh! It's Hazel!" She flew out the door and Slugger looked out just in time to see a slender young woman with pony-tailed hair handing notes to the driver of the taxi and turning around to receive Dora's welcoming hug. He wouldn't have recognized her in the grayness of early dawn.

When the two came through the door, the younger one dropped her rucksack and several carrier bags and ran to Slugger, grinning from ear to ear and enveloping him in a great hug which he returned.

"Here, girl. Let me look at you! What are you doin' back so soon?"

"Are you kidding? And miss Dora's party! Ron wrote it's gonna be the shindig of the season!"

"Where were you?" Dora asked, fetching a third mug.

"Majorca. I took the redeye to Leeds, the train to Tockwith and was lucky enough to find an all-night taxi to get me home."

"How long are you staying?"

Hazel made a moue. "You know, I might just not leave. Traveling is okay, I guess, but I think I've seen enough sights for a while and I was starting to get homesick. Besides, I think my man might be getting a bit restless and tempted to stray."

"Oh? And how would you know, cavorting on the beach all day with all those handsome Latin boys?" Dora joked.

"He's been writing regularly and keeping me posted... but his lies were getting a bit too elaborate, you know?" Hazel said wryly. "I can always tell when he's glossing the truth or trying to put one over."

Three months away had wrought an amazing transformation in the pale, lank-haired girl they'd seen off at the end of May. The Mediterranean sun had brought out a sprinkling of freckles and Hazel, never especially cheerful in nature, now seemed to have blossomed with an assurance that Dora envied.

Hazel swilled down half her tea in one go and hoisted her rucksack. "I'm just going to dump my stuff and hop in the shower. I'm that grubby from traveling all night."

She was halfway up the staircase when the same realization hit Dora and Slugger at once... Bernard, upstairs and asleep in Hazel's bed. They stood and stared at each other fearfully—waiting for a howl of indignation, the slam of a door, loud voices... anything. And they continued waiting... and waiting. Nothing.

They cautiously made their way up the stairs and along the hallway until they were able to see past the partially opened door to Hazel's room.

Hazel was sitting at the foot of the bed with one leg tucked underneath. Bernard was reclining against the headboard with his arms crossed against his chest and the bedclothes discreetly tucked up around his waist, looking neither particularly surprised nor embarrassed. They were chatting away like old pals.

As Dora and Slugger eased their heads around the door, Hazel turned her chipmunk smile on them and fluttered her eyelashes ostentatiously.

"You darlings! So sweet of you to arrange a welcome-home gift! He's adorable. Can I keep him?"

"I can explain..." Dora offered weakly.

"No need," Hazel chirped. "He already did when we introduced ourselves."

Slugger felt a need to intercede. "Um... Hazel... why don't you go with Dora while she gets dressed and I get Bernard moved to her old bedroom."

Hazel pouted. "But we were just getting to know each other..."

"Hazel! Out. Now," Slugger commanded.

She jumped off the bed and moved toward the door, stopping for a parting shot to Bernard. "Nice meeting you. Perhaps I'll get to see _more_ of you later."

This time it was Dora who flushed, reminded of her recent adventure... and that she hadn't told Slugger quite _everything_.

In her room behind the closed door, Dora slipped out of her nightdress and pulled underwear from a drawer while Hazel flopped on her bed, grubby clothes and all. Neither girl was shy about undressing in front of each other, given their institutional backgrounds—Dora's boarding school and Hazel's orphanage.

"So... what's up with this new bloke? Boyfriend in training or what?"

"Nothing's up, nothing at all... why would you even think such a thing?" Dora carefully kept her face averted as she buttoned up her blouse.

"Oh... I don't know... maybe it was the look on both your faces when you walked into the room? Betcha anything he was starkers under that sheet and both of you knew it! Have you tried it yet? Any good? I certainly wouldn't mind..."

"You incorrigible girl!"

Hazel rolled over onto her back and raised her legs straight up, wiggling her toes suggestively. "Good old Dora... tight-arsed as ever!"

"You're embarrassing me." Dora wiggled into a pair of tan chinos.

"Somebody ought to. You know, I've always thought it would be fun to learn to surf, so before Majorca I was in Mundaka checking out the surfing scene there—it's said to be the best surf spot in Spain. Anyway, the season's just getting underway there and it was simply heaving with American boys... and let me you, those California boys have absolutely no inhibitions at all! Your Bernard looks like one of those California surfers... all that lovely blonde hair and what a gorgeous tan! I'll bet he's tan _all over_..."

Dora sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her socks and trainers. "Let's change the subject, shall we? I'm terribly glad you're home and will be here for my party..."

"Oh... let's not. This is far more interesting. And if there's nothing going on, why are you not looking me in the eye? Why no sisterly sharing of naughty confidences?"

Dora risked a darting glance, speaking with what she hoped conveyed firmness. "There's nothing to share... nothing... naughty or otherwise!"

" '_The lady doth protest too much, methinks',"_ Hazel quoted.

"Oh no... not you too! Bernard's forever quoting things to illustrate points... it drives me mad! And you... I'm not too sure I want to hear all the salacious details of your dalliances on the beaches... you're meant to be engaged, if you recall."

Hazel held up her left hand and waggled its naked fingers. "Merely engaged to be engaged, as I recall. Not officially official yet. And you know what they say..."

Dora stood up and fixed an exasperated look on her companion. "No, I don't know. What _do_ they say?"

Hazel shot a wicked grin up. "When in Rome, do all the Romans you can!"

Throwing her hands up in mock resignation, Dora turned to the wardrobe and removed a mini sundress which she hung from a hook on the back of the door.

"Going somewhere?" Hazel asked, instantly sidetracked. Dora seldom wore dresses.

"Elayne's invited me to her place for lunch and then we're going to get our nails done. I'm sure you'd be most welcome to come along if you'd like."

"I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'd better grab the lav before those other lugs wake up and hog it." Hazel rolled off the bed, scooped Dora's discarded dressing gown off the floor and swooped out the door.

A variation on the musical chairs game ensued as, at the lavatory door, Hazel collided with Bernard who was just coming out of his 'new' bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm.

"Ladies first," he conceded graciously and turned toward the stairs. "I'll use the downstairs one."

Having quickly dressed, Slugger hustled back to the kitchen at the same time as Dora, in concert with Dottie's arrival. Slugger refilled the kettle while Dora quickly apprised the housekeeper of the latest development. Steve and Ron came pounding down the stairs, racing for the lav and elbowing each other out of the way only to find the door locked.

"Wait your turn," Bernard yelled as Steve beat on the door in vain.

Ron looked around and counted noses. "If everyone's down here, who's in the upstairs lav?" he groaned, hopping urgently from foot to foot.

"Hazel's home," Dora sang out.

"Hazel?!"

"T'were me, rather than stand there and suffer like a fool I'd just go outside the back door," Dottie advised sagely, adding in an aside to Slugger: "Four boys, one bath. You can imagine."

Steve and Ron made a mad dash through the scullery for the door to the kitchen garden. Slugger snorted into his tea, trying not to laugh.

Dottie pushed her chair back. "This crowd gets any bigger, we'll have to have breakfast in shifts. Come on, old man, we'd better get started." She crooked her finger at Slugger to follow.

Steve and Ron had wanted to hang around the kitchen to give Hazel a proper welcome home but were overruled. It was decided—or rather, dictated by Dottie—that the boys and Dora should go ahead and get started on morning chores. Bernard, too, had been routed outside by the time Hazel appeared downstairs, showered and scantily dressed in hip-hugger short shorts and a crop tank top, only to be intercepted by Dottie.

"Where do you think you're going, dressed like that?"

"What? This is what all the girls're wearing on the beach these days."

"Yes. Well. You're not at the seaside now, young lady."

Hazel ignored her and skipped outside to join the others.

Slicing bacon and ham for the pan, Slugger related to Dottie his evening conversation with Dora. "She wouldn't have lied to me, you don't think?" he asked anxiously.

Dottie was whipping up an enormous batch of soda biscuits and didn't immediately answer. "Probably something _did _happen there in the pool... but not what you're afraid of, Edward, or I would have seen it in her face. What it might have been, I couldn't say... but I have a feeling it was a good thing."

"But they kissed. You saw them. I thought you said he wouldn't..."

Dottie sighed in exasperation, putting down the wooden spoon with which she'd been beating the biscuit batter. Wiping her hands on her pinny, she marched over to Slugger, grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulled him down and planted a big one square on the mouth. Then stepped back and put both hands on her hips.

"Now then. Do you feel any different? Do you feel you've defiled Tiny's memory? Are you afraid a horde of Christian Decency Leaguers is going to rush over and paint scarlet letters on our foreheads? A kiss is just a kiss, Edward. It's not a binding contract and doesn't ruin you for life. You don't have to love someone to enjoy a kiss although liking them probably helps. And if you're Cosa Nostra, you don't even have to like 'em. What have you to say about _that_?"

Though thoroughly stunned, Slugger couldn't help the smile that began at the corners of his mouth and worked its way toward the middle. "Actually..." he began shyly, "Actually, Dottie, I liked it. I liked it a lot. I'd like to try it again." And it was Dottie's turn to blush. They moved apart, each to his and her own drainboard on either side of the sink where they'd been working. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Slugger kept shooting her surreptitious glances. "Dottie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you consider... would you maybe...?"

"Spit it out, old man."

"Would you like to go out with me sometime, go to dinner and maybe take in a pitcher show?"

There was a long pause before she answered without looking up from the biscuit bowl. "Yes, I would, Edward. I'd very much like that."

"Oh... er... well then... when would be convenient?"

"Tonight would be good. Or tomorrow night. In fact, any night would be splendid."

Another stretch of silence. "Dottie?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind awfully doing that again?"

A few minutes later Bernard, having been sent in to see how long until breakfast, poked his head into the scullery and furiously backpedaled, not realizing Hazel had come up behind him.

"_Ow!"_ she yelped, startling him so that he tripped over his own feet to sprawl at hers in a supplicating position.

She looked down. "Oh dear. I'm honored. Truly I am. But I'm already spoken for," she quipped. "On the other hand, I haven't been bought and paid for yet."

By the time he'd struggled to his feet, what he had observed in the scullery was over with and both parties were industriously attending to food preparation with very red faces.

"What's going on in there?" Hazel asked curiously, attempting to look around him.

"Nothing little girls need to see," Bernard said, grabbing her by the wrist and propelling her back outside.

"Unhand me, varlet," she demanded, "or I'll have to summon my betrothed to defend my honor. He will filet you with his Swiss army knife, forsooth."

"Sorry, sorry!" Bernard let go of her wrist and they both laughed.

"You were certainly in a swivet. Were they doing the deed or what?"

Bernard found he was very much liking this brash and irreverent teenager, so completely different from decorous Dora. "If you gotta know, they were swapping spit."

"Kissing?" Hazel was incredulous. "Slugger and Mrs. Doyle? No way!"

"Yeah. For a minute I thought I'd stepped onto the set of 'Love Boat' by accident."

"What's that?"

"Old American television show, still real popular on satellite channels."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Ah... never mind. Maybe it just hasn't been picked up here yet."

"So what's going on with you and Dora?" Hazel segued smoothly without turning a hair.

"Nothing... nothing at all... what makes you think there is?"

Hazel tapped the side of her nose. "The nose knows. Something's going on around here. If not you, then who? She's definitely not the same as when I left and she looks guilty as sin. So do you, for that matter."

"It ain't me, babe."

Hazel sniffed. "I'll find out anyway. Might as well confess."

"Good luck with that then. And are you really engaged to Ron? I don't see a ring on your finger."

"Semi-engaged. What you don't see is the collar around his neck and the other end of the lead in my hand."

"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Not any more than you are... babe."

They laughed again and were interrupted by Ron's hurried arrival. Giving Bernard a distinctly dirty look, he made a point of wrapping an arm around Hazel's waist and kissing her lightly on the lips. She was an inch or so taller than he was.

Bernard pointed to the girl's bare feet and then his own, saying. "A girl after my own heart."

"Better not be!" Ron gritted back, "She's already got mine and one's all she needs. Ain't that right, luv?"

"Yep. One's enough," she agreed. But she was still looking at Bernard with more than just passing interest and subconsciously wondering why he smelt of bananas. Hazel loved bananas and was always pestering Slugger to add them to his grocery list. She didn't remember having seen any in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table.

Bernard ambled away to return to watering the donkeys. Ron made Hazel go back into the mudroom to slip on some boots and then led her away from the house toward the lower pasture. "Come look at this new pony we got last week and you can tell me all about your adventures... and have I got some news for you...!"

Breakfast was got through with much talk and laughter at Hazel's anecdotes about learning to surf, after which Steve and Ron departed with the horsebox and an older but rehabilitated and still useful pony that was being donated to a riding centre for the disabled not too far away. Hazel went back upstairs to unpack and sort out her soiled laundry and Dora figured she could work in two or boarders before going to her lunch date.

Coming in to use the lav, Bernard knew that his reprieve from yesterday's imbroglio would be short-lived. Although nothing had been said during yesterday's dinner nor breakfast this morning, the hail of accusatory glances that had been flung his way had left no doubt that he would be called to account at the first convenient moment. And that moment was now...

"Sit!" Slugger ordered, and Bernard sat. "If I'da known this plan of yours included fooling around with Dora..."

"I can explain about that..." Bernard countered. "That had nothing to do with..."

"Shut up!" Slugger roared. "Dottie and me weren't the only ones what seen you two yesterday... that sneaky Ron followed yer yesterday and no doubt seen... whatever there was to see. D'ya have a death wish, lad? The fat's in the fire now. When Steve hears about this, he'll go berserk. He will _hurt_ you, son, do you understand what I'm saying? He's gone to prison once already for almost killing a man..."

"I can take care of myself," Bernard cut in defensively.

"Izzat so? Like you did Sunday night? He almost had you then... would have, if I hadn't stopped him."

"Maybe. But this time I'll be prepared."

Dottie intervened. "Edward, stop berating the boy. What's done is done and can't be undone. And in any case, kissing Dora was _not_ part of his plan, if she's to be believed... and I think we should give her... both of them... the benefit of the doubt. These things happen. You were young once... surely you remember how it is?"

Slugger was still breathing fire but Dottie's cooler head prevailed. To Bernard she said, "I suppose there's no point in further discussion of Plan A since the end result of Plan B has already been achieved... firing Steve up, that is."

Bernard regarded her glumly. "Yeah, all I have to do now is wait for him to come after me."

The trio drank their tea and considered in silence the battle to come.

"I told you that was a bad idea," Slugger finally said, " Do you even know how to defend yourself properly? I could show you a few moves..."

"Slugger," Bernard said wearily, "Six older sisters, remember? I had to learn martial arts just to get into the bathroom. Besides, I have no intention of slugging it out with Steve... no pun intended. He's gonna have to _catch_ me first."

"What I don't unnerstand," Slugger said, "is why Ron ain't tattled already. He's a good boy at heart, but he's a right ol' gossipmonger and don't know when to keep his piehole shut."

"Because he's a cunning little imp and knows to keep a good tale to himself until the time when the telling of it will do the most damage," Dottie declared. "I expect he's waiting until Steve is close enough to Bernard he can get his hands on him... with Dora around to witness."

"Is there a chance he won't...?" Bernard started to say.

"There's no way on earth he's not going to tell... and you can be sure he'll embellish for all he's worth," Dottie surmised.

"I know," Slugger said. "He gets sort of shifty-eyed when he's about to start trouble and he was that way last night and this morning, too."

"I noticed that," Dottie said. "He's been that way since he was a tyke. Used to come over and stir up my boys then stand back and giggle when they'd fight with each other, wretched little weasel."

"I wish he'd go ahead, then. This has to be over with before Sunday, one way or the other," Bernard said gloomily.

"But... why Sunday?" Slugger asked.

"Bernard's right... he may to force the issue. There's no more time," Dottie said emphatically. "Think, Edward, about what's going to happen on Sunday..."

"Er... what? What's gonna happen? It's just a birthday party."

Dottie rolled her eyes and patiently explained the problem to Slugger.

"When Dora first came to live here, she was just another pretty face... and unimportant. No one knew or cared who she was. But now, everyone in the district knows _Miss _Maddocks, heiress to Hollin Hall and confidante of Lady Butler. Elayne's invited everyone and their second cousin twice removed to come and help celebrate Dora's twenty-first. Every mother with great expectations and an unmarried son from here to Grimsby will be trotting him out for inspection like a racehorse at Tattersall's, not to mention third sons of impoverished Scottish lairds and every other penniless bachelor hoping to win the lottery."

It occurred to Slugger that Dottie, too, had an unwed son—her youngest, currently serving as a constable in The City. He mentioned it.

"Too right I do!" Dottie retorted. "My Raymond's as good as any and smarter than most, and he's been sweet on Dora since they first met. She likes him, too."

Slugger couldn't help but give her a sly grin. "So will you be putting Ray through his paces at this horse and pony show as well?"

Dottie tittered. "As much as I'd like to see that boy take up with a girl such as Dora, he's not yet ready to settle. Has his mind set on being a secret agent or super hero some day. Comes of watching too much telly as a young 'un, I reckon. 'Danger Man' was his favorite."

"Or Danger Mouse," Bernard murmured, to Slugger and Dottie's puzzlement. "Never mind... after your time. But seriously, I have it on good authority that there'll be someone at that party on Sunday who'll sweep her off her feet unless Steve seals the deal first."

"How good of an authority?" Dottie demanded.

Bernard gave her a level look. "The best. My wife. The one who sent me here." He paused to let that tidbit settle in and was surprised that neither of them showed any reaction when he was expecting shock and disapproval.

Slugger was marvelling that Dottie had been right on target with her speculation about Bernard's domestic status. Dottie was congratulating herself at her own perspicasity in linking Bernard with the elegant Solánge. She had, of course, immediately recognized the other woman as a sister under the skin. However, she remained baffled as to why one of such a superior ranking within the order would ally herself with an Other at the bottom band of the spectrum. Although witches did occasionally select mates from outside their tribes—even Normals, as Dottie herself had done—Bernard was a puzzlement. She decided there must have been some powerfully overriding unseen factor that merited such a union, but that there was no reason to not go on treating him as she had been.

"I see," Dottie said slowly. "That reminds me... no more kissing. Are we clear on that? And you a married man! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Bernard ground his teeth but had the good grace to look a bit shame-faced. "That... was... not... my... fault! It was an accident, sort of."

"See that it doesn't happen again!"

"Don't worry... it won't. Let's just hope that whatever Elayne says to Dora sinks in... and that Steve reacts the way I think he will. In the meantime, I think I'll go for a walk."

"Oh no you're not," Slugger declared. "We don't need a repeat of Wednesday! There's plenty enough to be done around here, starting with the washing up. You and me'll do it that while Mrs. Doyle gets on with her other work."

Bernard grumbled but, after a bathroom break, dutifully followed Slugger into the scullery where a depressingly large stack of breakfast crockery awaited.

In desperate need of attention to her raggedy toenails and chewed cuticles, Hazel decided to accompany Dora to the luncheon-and-spa date at Butler Hall; Dora's hands and feet weren't much better. The girls washed up and changed clothes before departing in the new estate wagon as the others were sitting down to lunch.

Directly after eating, Ron and Steve took the LandRover to attend their orientation class that started at one o'clock and lasted until four-thirty at the community college. Slugger co-opted Bernard to help dig potatoes in the kitchen garden and gather windfall apples and pears in the modest orchard while Dottie went on a cobweb eradication campaign with a damp rag tied around the business end of a broom. A peaceful afternoon seemed in the offing.

**Field Journal: Friday, September 5, 1974 • 12:30pm**

**Location:** Downstairs bathroom.

**Interim notes:** An interesting start to my day... having a gamine little creature tickling me awake. Hazel is as attractive as Dora but in a completely different way. Probably has no idea she's a third-generation Elf... an alpha female if ever there was one. Poor Ron has no idea what he's in for. What am I saying, "Poor Ron"? He's getting what he deserves and then some. Hazel is wise beyond her years... if it were Hazel and Steve having the problem, there wouldn't be one. She would have settled his hash long ago and I wouldn't be here. Must remember to ask: Are Imps and/or Goblins genetically compatible with Elves? Don't see why not, if Witches and Shapeshifters can crossbreed.

There's nothing more I can do or say. A confrontation of some sort is inevitable. Perhaps not an optimum solution but what choice do I have? What makes me anxious is not knowing when it will happen or what form it will take. A dignified exchange of opinions and accusations would be preferable to fisticuffs but the latter is more likely. Assuming there will be a modicum of bloodshed and no long-term damage as SHE wouldn't have sent me if that possibility existed. At least, that's what I'd like to think. It looks like Slugger plans to keep me under his thumb all day so I might as well just go and do whatever he wants done until whatever is going to happen happens. As they say, qué será, será.

CHAPTER 17:_** "It is not enough to conquer; one must also know how to seduce" **_• Voltaire

At age thirty-six, Elayne Butler's favorite adage—attributed to the Duchess of Windsor—was that one 'can never be too rich or too thin' and she lived by both. Her marriage to the widower Lord Hughes Butler a decade ago had occasioned horror among the snooty wives of other peers of the realm and acute discomfort on the part of his three grown daughters, who were loathe to accept this tacky and unrefined American woman into the family. Elayne didn't give a rat's patootie what anyone thought. Her husband loved her dearly and he was generous with his very deep pockets. Unlike other members of the upper class who found themselves struggling to maintain decaying estates amid escalating costs and dwindling incomes, Huey Butler had done very well for himself in the stock market and not only managed to hang on to the family nest egg but increase its worth. Too, Elayne had brought to the union her own considerable wealth, legacies of previous husbands either deceased or archived.

Although having been well-educated at a prestigious New Orleans seminary, Elayne made no pretentions about her lowly origins in the bayou country of lower Louisiana and preferred to retain her 'good ole gal' aura, chiefly because it so irritated Huey's stuffy relatives and most of his stuck-up friends. She could discourse in perfectly respectable uninflected English when it suited her, which wasn't often.

As Dora and Hazel pulled into the circle drive at the front entrance, a valet trotted up to open the doors and whisk the Cortina away to a parking area sheltered from the sun. Hardison, the Butler's majordomo, greeted them at the door with his customary gravitas and personally conducted them across the immense central entrance hall to the solarium where Elayne was waiting by an elegant safari-style mahogany folding table set up on the tiled floor. Two maids were briskly snapping on a snowy white linen cloth, while two more stood at attention with a rolling cart laden with silver-lidded dishes. A pair of nice-looking young lads were bringing in chairs. A Japanese horticulturist puttered silently on the periphery of the enormous room, dispensing water from an atomizer on orchids and other tropical rarities.

Elayne believed in supporting the local economy by providing as many positions as there were applicants wanting to come and work for her. Her largesse was known far and wide and her staff were intensely loyal. Her only requirement was that they be cheerful. Life was too short to be depressed by exposure to unhappy people, according to her. She treated each and every one exactly alike, as if they were favorite neighbors living just down the dirt road in a shanty identical to the one in which she grew up.

"Splendid! Right on time, girls!" Elayne trilled. "And how lovely you're home and could join us, Hazel Marie. Dora rang and gave me a heads up. Love the hair. And what a fetching frock... suits you to a 'T'." At the very last minute Hazel had been persuaded to exchange her shorts and tank top for a gauzy sundress similar to the one Dora had chosen. The three broke out in girlish giggles as they took their places and dishes were brought to the table. Elayne reverted to her usual manner of speech as she questioned Hazel about her travels.

When they had finished eating, Elayne led the way to her salon—gal territory, she called it—where her personal beauty maintenance manager had already set up a hairdressing station, a massage table and three chairs with foot spas facing each other close enough for comfortable conversation. Adjacent to the salon was a full spa facility containing a shower, steam room, sauna, cold plunge, jacuzzi and a small lap pool. Next to that, a fully equipped personal gymnasium. Elayne was indeed ultra high maintenance, no expenses spared.

"Raoul honey, where's them grape squeezin's?" Elayne called to a tall, dark and outrageously handsome young man whose body had obviously never missed a daily workout at the gym. Raoul gestured to another very pretty boy identified as Pepe who waited attendance by the wet bar. Pepe immediately sprang into action and filled three goblets with sangria. A pleasant-faced but somewhat butchy girl with purple hair called Connie stood by clutching an armload of soft terry spa robes and turbans.

The men withdrew while Connie assisted the three women as they changed into their robes and settled into their chairs with their wine glasses. Raoul and Pepe magically reappeared without being summoned.

Elayne pulled out a gold Dunhill lighter and a pack of Benson & Hedges filtertips, firing one up and blowing a smoke ring as Pepe minced over with a standing ash tray. "Baby Huey don't like for me to smoke in front of his friends. Says it's low-class. Makes you wonder why he married me, don't it?" And, without waiting for a response, "So, you and Boo still workin' out okay?"

"How do you mean?" Hazel's ears perked up, detecting a note of desperation.

"Well, is he doin' what you need him to do or ain't he?

Dora blushed and glanced away meaningfully at the trio mixing up potions and powders at a side table.

"Oh hell, sugar. Don't you worry about them... they all play for the other team. Absolutely reliable... just like them three wise monkey... 'See no gossip, hear no gossip, speak no gossip.' Nothin' you say leaves this room. Pretend they ain't there. Ain't that right, y'all?" Elaine flung over her shoulder. There was no indication whatsoever that anyone had heard anything. "Go on, honey. I'm listenin'."

Hazel was paying rapt attention although it took a world of concentration to not dwell on the conversation she'd had earlier with Ron. First Dora had lied to her, then Bernard. The question was why? Why had Dora fallen out of love with Steve? Or he with her? She knew she was about to hear some real news and could hardly contain herself.

Dora began hesitantly. "Elle, I know I'm not as worldly as you and I'm inexperienced compared to other girls my age, but I'm not _that_ slow. I know there's something odd... different... about Bernard..."

"Awwwww, honey... you didn't go and _kiss_ him, did you?" the older woman interjected. "After I _told_ you not to!"

Dora nodded dumbly.

Elayne was silent for a moment. "That little varmint shoulda knowed better," she growled.

"It wasn't his fault... I made him do it."

Elayne humphed. "And that was it? Just a kiss? You sure nothing _else_ happened?"

"Elayne! But... something _could_ have happened... something came over me... I... I _wanted_ it to happen."

"And?"

"He turned me down. Was it me? Was it something about me that turned him off?"

"Nah. Warn't you. I'll explain some other time. Tell me... what was y'all doin' just before that?"

Dora told her everything... Bernard's confession about his mission, her disbelief, swimming in the small lake _au naturel_, her initiation of the kiss, her physical response—and his, her desire to experience more and his polite refusal to reciprocate. Elayne listened with as grave a face as Dora had ever seen on her. Hazel's eyebrows had shot up to her hairline and her ears were literally quivering. Did this mean that _Ron_ had lied to her... or had he just improvised the worst scenario he could think of to impress her.

In the meantime, Raoul and Pepe had started working on feet.

"Umhmnnn... hold on a minute... Hazel Marie, you gotta swear you ain't gonna repeat nothin' you hear today..."

Hazel, eyes wide, made the universal closed-zipper sign across her mouth and crossed her heart with her forefinger.

Dora continued. "When I was floating in the pool, I felt so... I felt like Wonder Woman. Like I could do anything I wanted... and that's what I wanted to do. So I did it. I don't know what came over me."

"That wacky water is what come over you, honey. Don't know why Dot didn't warn you about it. She should've," Elayne mused.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"When you get home, you ask her about the clootie well. Tell I said so. And don't go there no more... not with Bernard, anyway. If you gotta go, go with Steve."

"Steve can't swim."

"Aw, shoot! Well, anyways, go on with your story. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate that kiss?"

"Oh... a twelve. Definitely a twelve! I felt it all the way down to my..." Dora halted and shot a questioning look at Hazel. Elayne hooted.

"I 'spect Hazel Marie ain't hearin' nothin' she don't already know about."

"I thought we were going to discuss my party tomorrow?" Dora said evasively.

"Subterfuge, darlin'. I had sumpin' else I wanted to go over with you. But looks like you and Boo done beat me to the subject."

"What are you talking about?"

"About you not makin' any progress with Steve and thinkin' about dumpin' him and goin' trollin' somewheres else."

"How would you know that?" Dora gasped. "That's exactly what I've been thinking about."

"A little birdie tweeted in mah ear. I don't think you wanna give up just yet."

"No? And why not? I'm not getting any younger here, you know!"

"Yeah, she wants to get married and have babies before her eggs reach their sell-by date," Hazel piped up, thoroughly confused by now. It was beginning to sound like this whole deal between Dora and Bernard was a sting operation... a set-up... a procedure she'd learned about from one of her Mundaka one-night stands whose day job back in Malibu was working vice squad on the police force there. Pepe, bent over her left foot, suppressed a snicker.

"Honey, after what you said, my direct advice to you is get that boy off by hisself and just lay one on him. Take him by surprise, so to speak."

"Bernard said exactly the same thing after we... afterwards... but..." Dora hung her head, her clasped hands fidgeting in her lap. "I just don't know that I can do it. I suppose I'm afraid of making a fool of myself... in case, you know... he's simply not interested. And I was afraid of getting it wrong. Now I'm afraid of getting it _too_ right and he'll know why. And not only that, I think Ron saw us... Bernard and me. He'll tell Steve for sure and then what? I don't know how I'm going to explain it to him. Or even that he deserves an explanation."

"What you do or don't tell him is up to you," Elayne said, "But here's what Slugger told Dot and she told me. Steve has an idea you might be lookin' to move on and he's et up with worry. That in itself might be enough to spur him into action but I wouldn't count on it. It's only needs just a tad more encouragement on your part to tip the scales in your favor."

"Have you been talking to Bernard? He told me that, too."

"Toldja he was a smart little booger."

Conversation was suspended as Raoul and Pepe deftly and silently whisked away the foot spas and replaced them with footstools while Connie passed around baskets of nail varnish from which the women made their color choices. Chair backs were reclined, thin slices of cucumber applied to eyelids, warm damp cloths artfully draped on faces.

Elayne's voice emanated from beneath the cloth, slightly muffled.

"What I really got y'all over here for, Dora, is a good old-fashioned cheerleadin' pep talk. Rah rah sis boom bah... go team! Plan A's gone just about as far it can go and it looks like Plan B is about to kick off, so today's topic is Plan C... an' I'm tellin' you, gal, this is your last best chance to hook him."

"But Elle, I don't want to have to _hook_ him... or _trap_ him... if he doesn't want me for _me_, then there's no point in any of this."

"Suit yourself. But let's talk about Plan C anyway."

Underneath her own drape, Dora sighed, knowing she was about to receive instruction on yet some other endeavor alien to her nature.

"First of all, missy, let's examine this here intimacy problem. You been brought up kinda sheltered from the evils of society and don't know a whole hell of a lot about menfolk and their ways. Now you done got aholt of a man with morals, scruples and ethics. Them kind's scarce as hen's teeth, I'll have you know. The thing about most men, though, is they don't never wanna discuss their feelin's on account of they think that's unmanly."

"Steve did," Dora objected, "Just the once, though. He said how much he valued my friendship... how it was like a treasure he would remember his whole life. He said he knew how much I hated change and that love changes everything and he didn't want to risk ruining our relationship that way. He said we came from two different worlds; I'm rich, he's poor and it would never work. Maybe he's right but it doesn't change the way I feel about him."

"Lemme tell you what I think about your Steve. His heart's in the right place but it's done been kicked around and stomped on so much that he's too scairt to let anyone have another crack at hurtin' it again. He wants to love and be loved, but he just can't bring himself to let anyone get close enough. So you got a psychostalemate here... what we call a 'Mexican standoff'. Oh... he might trust you enough to nibble some oats outta your hand every once in a while but just you try to throwin' a saddle on 'im! Now, Dora, ah know you know 'zackly how to go about dealin' with that. You do it every day with your abused horses. Gentleness, kindness, consistent attention and—most of all—perseverance. Men ain't all that different."

"But Elaine, I _have_ been doing those things all along and it's getting me nowhere. I'm growing older by the second. What more can I do?"

"About the class thing ah cain't offer you much advice there, bein' as ah ain't got much class my own self. But ah do come from old money and lots of it, so that's always greased the wheels, so to speak. Havin' enough money to make ends meet is important. Not havin' enough is one a the things young couples fight about most often. But you already got that covered. A lotta men don't got a problem with livin' off a woman's money, but there's others flat out see that as loss of face or some damn thing. I 'spect Steve's one a them kind and that's a stumblin' block you'll have to work on. As for bein' from different worlds, a big part of marriage is respectin' each others beliefs and understandin' where the other one's comin' from. Ya gotta learn to compromise. It's a real big part, too, bigger than love even.

Now, to get back to how you're gonna get your man in forward gear, there's two time-honored ways a gettin' a man to marry you... one of 'em is, you don't turn loose a the keys to the gold mine 'til you got the rock on your finger."

"And the other one?" Simultaneously all three lifted up the corners of their drapes in order to see each other.

"Give 'im the gold mine... you unnerstand what ah'm sayin', sugah? An honorable man will do the right thing. Especially if..." Here Elaine made the universal gesture over her stomach that signified a bun in the oven. "And I'm thinkin' your Steve must be one hell of an honorable man or your virginal little self wouldn't be sittin' here right now."

Dora's hands flew to her mouth and she felt her face flame. "I couldn't possibly... I wouldn't know..." she squeaked.

"Oh please!" Elaine fixed her with a stern look. "You cain't possibly be _that_ naive! It ain't that hard, Dora. Y'all live in the same house, doncha? You already got all the right equipment. You got motive, you got opportunity, you got a game plan... an' now you got the knowledge to implement it. All you need is some gumption and a sexy nightie. If you ain't got one, ah'll give you one. Ah gots tons of 'em ah ain't ever worn. A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. He's a man. You're a woman. Nature will take its course, honey, ah promise!"

When the manicures and pedicures were done, the rest of the afternoon was given over to the sybaritic pleasures of being saunaed, steamed, massaged, pummeled, waxed and facialed, all interspersed with nuggets of wisdom and raunchy advice from Elayne. Raoul and his crew departed as Elayne walked her two guests, relaxed and limp as wet noodles, out to the front entrance where the valet was bringing around the estate wagon.

Elayne sighed with satisfaction, examining her fingers. "Them fairies sure do a nice job, don't they?"

"Isn't it kind of rude to refer to them that way? Don't they mind?" Dora ventured.

Elayne cocked her head questioningly. "No, why should they? That's what they are." Then she caught on.

"Oh! They're _real_ fairies, too, hon... as in fairy tale fairies. Tinker Belles. Fey _and_ gay."

Dora and Hazel looked at each other and broke out in gales of laughter. Elayne didn't.

"You don't believe in fairies? In magic?"

"No... I don't think so... I'm not sure..." Dora words trailed off uncertainly. "That is, Bernard had me _almost _believing in it..."

Elayne hesitated a fraction of a section. "Boo's been telling tales out of school, has he? Did he have anything to say about me?"

"He called you a witch, Elle, and said you had powers that you could use to help people. Oh, I feel silly just talking about it."

"Well, if you don't believe, can you accept that there are some folks with special abilities that can be turned to either good or evil?"

"I suppose so."

"Boo and me, we're them kinda folks... the good 'uns. Let's leave it at that. But sugah, you cain't tell anybody, not ever. Can you promise me that? It's important."

Elayne turned to face Hazel. "That goes for you, too, Hazel Marie. I need your solemn word."

"You got it, Lady B." Hazel bobbed her head up and down earnestly. "But before we go, there's something I need to tell you... that Ron told me... I guess I should have mentioned it earlier but..."

Elayne and Dora listened, aghast, as Hazel repeated Ron's version of events.

"That's that, then," the older woman said. "It's gonna hit the fan any time now and it's gonna be a big ole fuss. You gals keep yer powder dry and stay outta the line of fire."

They thanked Elayne for their wonderful day and her hospitality, climbed into the estate wagon and headed for home, subdued and fearful.

Also on their way home were Steve and Ron, having yanked off their neckties and loosened restrictive collar buttons. They discussed what they'd observed and learned at the Adult Education Centre, where neither one had ever previously set foot or even given any thought to prior to Bernard's intrusion into their lives. A most helpful assistant called Naomi had greeted them and personally escorted them on a tour of the facilities before settling them in a conference room with tea and biscuits and stacks of informational material about available courses of study. Each had been interviewed privately by a counselor who explored various areas of interest and offered suggestions about class choices.

Both young men had been gratified to find that they were far from the oldest adults seeking to better their employment potential through higher education. They were amazed at the number of senior citizen students who viewed going back to school as life-enhancing opportunities to expand their minds and widen their horizons. Steve mused that attending school because you wanted to was far different from enduring school because you had to. The seminar itself was more of a practical nature outlining rules, requirements and financing options.

Two sets of approved applications lay on the bench seat between them as the LandRover grumbled its way over the unpaved county road. Steve was in such high—and rare—good humor that it was more than Ron could stand, and he concluded the time was ripe to publicize the results of his voyeurism. He lit a cigarette and scrunched down in his seat, putting his shoes up on the dash.

"By the way, mate," he began casually, "there's sumpin' you oughter know about..."

The tale was more or less correct except that Ron left out the part about the couple's having been fully dressed and having already removed to the bank of the larger lake before engaging in The Kiss. He failed to point out that at no time while Dora was in the water _au naturel_ did Bernard come anywhere near her but had in fact kept a respectable distance between them. And he didn't bother to mention that it was Dora who had dived on Bernard, not the other way around, or that in fact it actually appeared as if Bernard were attempting to fend her off.

As icing on the cake, Ron opined that no doubt Bernard and Dora would in future have ample opportunity to cozy up every evening with Steve off toiling in the halls of academe.

Jealousy enveloped Steve as a thick fog and his fingers clamped around the steering wheel in white-knuckled fury. His foot stomped the accelerator and he pushed the elderly LandRover as hard as it could go. After a few near misses involving perambulating sheep and other drivers on the narrow road, Ron began to question whether the thrill of being the first to impart prime gossip was worth his life or limbs. But he couldn't, of course, take it back or try to pass it off as a joke. Steve was no longer listening, having heard only half of what Ron said and understanding even less than that. There was, figuratively speaking, blood in his eye and a red mist rising.

**Field Journal: Friday, September 6, 1974 • 5:00pm**

**Location:** Feedroom (for a change)

Mrs. D. served tomato soup and cheese sandwiches for lunch and then I got to dig up spuds and hoe weeds. Was that fun or what?

Slugger had about a million other chores for me to do and tried again to get me to milk that cow. Fat chance. When pigs fly and so on.

It was agreed during our morning strategy meeting that my action plan must be executed no later than noon tomorrow if Ron hasn't spilled the beans and started the ball rolling by then. I'm betting Ron's gonna talk while he and Steve are alone together today, in which case it 'ill go down sooner rather than later.

Since Steve can't be cajoled, convinced or otherwise led to make a declaration on his own—and so far it appears that isn't going to happen—then the cattle prod approach is the only alternative. I'm counting on his jealous temperament to take over common sense.

The possibility exists that either I might unintentionally hurt Steve or he might intentionally hurt me. Will do my level best to avoid that but accidents do happen. I suppose SHE has already taken that into account.

Knowing Elayne and her history with men, she's going to lay it on the line for Dora and will no doubt be shockingly graphic about it. Don't know if American tactics will work for a sheltered English girl. Or are women's ways the same the world over? How would I know?

Wish Mrs. D would take that accursed cow home with her and leave it there. That animal won't rest until it's hooked a horn in my guts. In case I haven't mentioned it earlier, I HATE COWS!

CHAPTER 18:_** "History is a race between education and catastrophe" **_• H.G. Wells

The scene was staged for high drama as if by a diabolical set designer, with human emotion its choreographer.

Advancing toward the blue Hillman, Slugger and Dottie were awkwardly holding hands and exchanging shyly tender endearments prior to her departure for the evening.

The white Cortina bearing Dora and Hazel arrived and coasted into its parking space next to the housekeeper's vehicle. The two young women, who should have been glowing with good cheer and the aftereffects of a blissful day spent doing happy girl stuff, approached the older couple with grave expressions.

The olive LandRover containing Steve and Ron barrelled in two minutes later, sloughing to a halt next to the Cortina amid a great cloud of dust and a spray of gravel. It emitted a death rattle as its doors flung open, tumbling Ron out one side and slingshotting Steve out the other.

In the stableyard Bernard's bare feet were carrying his oblivious self and a bucket of water from the trough to the donkey pen.

The gods were laughing.

Spotting Bernard, Steve crashed the yard gate and charged toward toward his nemesis with deadly intent, roaring "_I told you to leave her alone!_" The gate teetered as it broke free of its hinges and slammed to the ground with a crump.

"Cat's out of the bag, looks like," Slugger muttered.

"It's showtime," Dottie agreed unnecessarily.

"Noooooooooooo!" Dora's hands flew to her mouth.

"Oh wow!" Hazel's eyes were round as dinner plates.

"You're in big trouble," Slugger mouthed at Ron.

"Who, me?" Ron pantomimed back.

Caught unaware, Bernard dropped the bucket on his left foot. _"Yow!"_ Hopping on the other one, he overbalanced and toppled over just as Steve took a swing at him and hit Dora's pet arboreal project—her Lightning Tree—instead. Yelping with pain, Steve lurched at Bernard and went to kick him in the head, only to bark his shin on the bottom rail under which Bernard had frantically rolled, scuttling on his hands and knees into the pen.

"Far out!" Hazel whooped excitedly, avidly anticipated the mayhem to come. "They're fighting over you!"

Slugger reached for Dora's elbow solicitously while searching a vest pocket for one of his ever-present handkerchiefs in the expectation that she'd burst into tears any second now. To his surprise, not only was she _not_ crying, she had a look of pure disgust fixed on her face. Dottie merely folded her arms together and shook her head.

"_You little bastard!_" Steve cursed, starting to climb over the top rail. A bawl of indignation attended a squawk of distress from the depths of the shed. Bernard had forgotten about Queen Maude in her temporary accommodation. Making an end run around the rumps of the startled donkeys, he shinnied up the Lightning Tree to perch on one of the upper branches.

Dottie noticed for the first time that Bernard had prehensile toes and considered if there might be an ape or two in his family tree, along with horses and—as she suspected—cats.

Steve was attempting to scale the tree, not an easy task with the slick-soled dress shoes he'd worn to class.

"_Come down here and fight like a man!"_ he shouted.

"Not on your sweet bippy," Bernard declared, squirreling up a notch.

Dora's mouth was pinched together tightly. Hazel chewed on a twist of hair. Suddenly realizing the possibility of being held accountable for a death by misadventure, Ron looked around for a convenient place to hide.

Despite his sartorial handicap, Steve was making progress and Bernard looking distinctly nervous when suddenly his branch gave way. Steve made a grab for him and was left clutching half a tee shirt as Bernard plummeted past, hitting the packed dirt with a thud and laying there stunned.

Slugger tensed at the possibility of broken bones. Dottie let out a muffled squeal of maternal dismay. Dora squeaked in alarm. Hazel chewed a newly varnished nail.

Steve lost his purchase on the tree trunk and fell backwards into the pen. Bobbing up instantly and attempting to push past the bucking and braying donkeys, he was ejected through the pen's flimsy gate by eight hundred pounds of irate cow. Agitated donkeys spewed in all directions while Queen Maude lowered her head and zeroed in on the object of her disapprobation who, having mostly regained his senses, was listing to port as he scurried away at top speed in the general direction of the watering trough. With a bellow of outrage she lit out after him.

Alarmed at the close proximity of Maude's sharp horns bearing down on him with Steve's contorted face right behind her, Bernard accelerated into a banking curve around the trough, the tattered remains of his tee shirt flapping from his neck like a flag. He fled toward the hay barn and slipped through the narrow opening where one of the blue doors wasn't completely closed. Steve cut to the left of the trough and the cow to the right, losing ground. Not quite as slender as Bernard, Steve sacrificed several seconds in working the door open a few more inches to permit him to squeeze through, though ripping his shirt. Maude poked her head inside the gap, mooing in frustration when she was unable to follow.

Members of the audience looked at each other in consternation but didn't have long to wait until the action came around again. Bernard had escaped out the back door of the hay barn and pelted around the north side of the old stables. He gave them a thumbs up and a wink as he hared by and broadjumped the fallen gate, where he paused for a moment to catch his breath.

Bernard's respite was all too brief; Steve's longer legs had enabled him to catch up. As he, too, made to leap over the flattened gate a shower of pebbles struck him from behind and he stumbled. He clutched at Bernard's ankle as he went down and the latter managed to retreat only a few paces with one hundred sixty pounds of determined predator latched onto his foot. It looked like Steve had him.

"Get 'im! Get 'im!" Hazel was cheering.

"Who's side are you on, anyway?" Ron queried.

"Either one. Both. Does it matter?" Hazel responded with unabashed glee. "This is more fun than footie!"

"Should we turn the hosepipe on them?" Dottie was inquiring of Slugger.

"Nah, not yet," Slugger responded. "Bernard seems to be holding his own."

"I say let the stupid gits kill each other," Dora ground her teeth.

_Who are you and what have you done with my gentle Dora, _Slugger wondered.

A second volley of rocks stung both of them and Bernard broke free, once again streaking for the trough.

Slugger was shaking his head with a no-no expression at Hazel, who shrugged and dropped her third handful.

Once again Steve caught up to Bernard and they circled the water trough like a pair of hyenas squaring off over an antelope carcass.

Steve was yelling. _"I told you to stay away!"_

"I heard you the first time, you jerk," Bernard yelled back.

"_You calling me a jerk?"_ Steve shouted.

"If the shoe fits..." Bernard taunted.

Steve tried to jump over the trough and fell in. Bernard seized the momentary advantage by sprinting for the breezeway and scaling the gate while Steve extricated himself and yanked off his shoes in disgust, pitching first one and then the other at Bernard before resuming hot pursuit. The second missile hit Bernard in the back of the head and knocked him off the top of the gate. Both young men then disappeared down the breezeway with eight highly curious heads regarding them over stall doors.

The spectators held their collective breaths as the action continued outside of their line of sight on the other side of the wall, where the heavy farm equipment had been removed when the new stables were built. They could still hear, however, as the two combatants continued exchanging threats and insults throughout the veritable obstacle course of wagons, spreaders, cultivators, balers and other machinery, employing creative expressions and strong language such as Slugger hadn't heard since his national service days.

Presently Bernard attained the top of the stone wall where he stood for a moment pumping his right fist into the air triumphantly before hopping back down into the yard. They caught a brief glimpse of Steve's face, shoulders and arms as he made an abortive attempt to leap the wall as well. Seconds later he careened around the cornerpost and past the reviewing stand again, blundering straight into Maude's backside. She'd been circling the yard with the obvious intention of reaquiring her original target. This new indignity caused her to sunfish like a rodeo bronc and she chased Steve into the lower stable where he simply darted out the door at the other end and left her in the dark.

Bernard was waiting for him on the other side of the fallen gate. When Steve lit out toward him, Bernard pivoted and headed toward the lake.

As one, the spectators moved into the driveway and shuffled forward enough to be able to view the action on the shoreline. Instead of diving off the dock where he'd be safe from non-swimmer Steve, Bernard darted toward the reed bed and made a spectacular bellyflop into the shallow water, rotating swiftly onto his back and backstroking out to deeper water. Steve made the mistake of leaping feet-first into the reeds where he instantly became mired in knee-deep mud. Bernard side-stroked his way around the dock to a reed-free stretch of bank and scrambled up on dry land. There he stood, bent over with his hands on his knees, apparently lobbing inflammatory remarks to his adversary.

After falling over a few times while trying to extricate himself from the sucking mud, Steve fought his way free and took up the chase. This time Bernard's route took him around the front of the farmhouse. The audience as a group sidled back to the relative safety of the mudroom stoop and all heads swiveled to the right where, as anticipated, Bernard came barreling around the northwest corner of the building with Steve at his heels. At first it appeared they had both been mysteriously bloodied from the neck down when Slugger suddenly realized they'd come through the kitchen garden.

"My tomatoes!" he moaned piteously.

"Looks like they made a detour through the orchard as well," Dottie chuckled as Steve hurled first one then another hard round red object at Bernard, the second apple catching him square between the shoulder blades. Bernard screeched to a halt, turned and chucked a similar round red object at Steve. His missile of choice was huge ripe tomato which hit Steve in the forehead with a most satisfactory splat, temporarily blinding him.

Bernard was almost even with the spectators now, not looking where he was going but over his shoulder as he jeered. "See ya... wouldn't wanna be ya!" When he did look around it was to find himself facing off with Queen Maude, head lowered, horns in the _en garde_ position and ominously pawing the gravel of the driveway. Bernard sheered off to the right and fetched up near the donkey shed.

It had been clear to both Slugger and Dottie that Bernard's strategy had been to keep moving until Steve either tired or gave up, but they observed that the corner in which Bernard had taken refuge now proved to be his undoing: he was trapped between the stone wall at his back, the donkey shed and pen to the left, the short portion of wall paralleling the driveway and the cornerpost to the right... and the manure heap, around which Maude was advancing from one side and Steve from the other.

When Bernard paused to examine his now limited escape options, Steve made a flying tackle and they both went down in the muck. They grappled fiercely in the ordure until both were uniformly coated with dung and bits of straw from head to toe and it was almost impossible to tell one from the other. Maude paced the periphery, uncertain of her chosen victim.

Scared and more than a little angry, Dora was the only not appreciating the comic elements of the chase. Ron, born instigator that he was, was thoroughly enjoying the dust-up—as long as any physical involvement on his part wasn't required. Hazel was entranced with the romantic aspect of having two men going _mano e mano_ over a woman they both desired—the stuff of bodice-ripper novels.

Slugger and Dottie hadn't been overly concerned with the outcome of the fight; so far it had just been all _sturm und drang_ with no serious injury. They assumed that once every last ounce of adrenalin had been expended by both parties, the match would degenerate to words only. They were more interested in the outcome: would their plan work... or not? No one was prepared for what next transpired.

Bernard had managed to squirm free and put some space between himself and his antagonist, but was still trapped in the corner with his back against the wall. Steve had snatched up a manure fork that Ron had neglected to put away and was advancing on his quarry. Sunlight glinted off the sharpened tines and a collective gasp went up from the gallery. Whatever sense of fun there had been had fled in the presence of real danger.

Bernard abruptly stopped moving and pressed his back against the wall.

"You don't wanna go there, man," he said softly.

"You think I won't?" Steve's face was a frozen mask.

"You think it's that easy to kill someone? Go ahead and try. Let's see if you've got the guts."

Steve had stopped his forward motion, breathing heavily. His eyes dropped to the fork in his hands as if seeing it for the first time and wondering how it had got there. He threw it aside and lunged toward Bernard with a cry of rage, fists swinging. Bernard easily stepped aside and Steve slammed up against the wall. Steve collected himself and came at him again. Bernard made no effort to run away but every time Steve attempted to connect, his fists met thin air or unforgiving stone... and then he was distracted by Dora's plaintive cry.

"Steve! Stop... please stop!" As Steve turned his head in her direction, Bernard darted around behind him and took him in a headlock with his right arm, using his left to twist Steve's left arm behind his back and rendering him immobile. The harder Steve struggled to get away, the tighter Bernard choked him and the more pressure he applied on the twisted arm.

In addition to exhibiting unexpected physical strength for one of such small stature, Bernard now demonstrated a remarkably resonant voice presence as well. Every word he spoke was clearly audible—if initially incomprehensible—to the assemblage transfixed not thirty feet away.

"Please choose one of the following options."

"Arrggghhh..." Steve gargled.

"To continue fighting, press one."

"Grmpphhh..." Steve gasped.

"To surrender, press two."

"Gedddofff..." Steve croaked.

"To apologize, press three."

"Legggggggoooooo..." Steve honked.

"To return to the main menu, press the pound sign."

"Errrgfffff..." Steve wheezed.

Bernard moved his arm away from Steve's throat.

"Or perhaps you'd like to explain to Dora why you think killing me will solve your problems."

"Because..." Steve whispered.

"Because why..." Bernard encouraged.

"Because... _she's mine._"

"I don't think so, Steve. You can own a horse. You can own a dog. You can't own another person. You'll have to do better than that."

"Because I love her."

"Better. Much better. But don't tell me... tell _her_." He relaxed his grip.

"_BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"_

Bernard let him loose and gave him a shove. "That's more like it, bubba. Tell her like you mean it."

Steve turned toward Dora and threw his head back.

"_BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, DORA. I LOVE YOU!"_

The words echoed off the stone walls of the outbuildings and... just like that... the fight was over. Steve stood there splay-legged, defeated and yet victorious. He'd finally been able to say what he'd been wanting to say for three years.

In the astounded silence that followed everyone looked at one another before turning their attention on Dora. She wasn't crying. She wasn't smiling or laughing. She merely stared at Steve with a completely blank expression.

Slugger was the first to speak, rounding on Ron. "You just had to go and blab, didn't ya... ya blabbermouth!"

"I might have mentioned something..." Ron answered evasively.

Swiveling her eyes around to the redhead, Dora spoke tersely. "How could you, Ron? I thought we were friends."

"He woulda found out sooner or later," Ron whined defensively.

The girl regarded Ron as if he were something especially noxious she'd just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. Enunciating clearly and coldly through clenched teeth, she said, "Get out of my sight, Ron Stryker. I mean it. Go. I can't speak to you right now. I can't even look at you."

Slugger didn't waste his breath with a lengthy remonstration. "Were I you, boy, I'd find some other place to be this evening. I'm that ashamed of you, I am."

Ron looked to Hazel for sympathy but finding none there, either, slunk away to his motorcyle and roared off under a dense cloud of disgrace.

Dora turned on her heel and went into the house followed by Dottie and Hazel, leaving Slugger with the pair of highly odoriferous gladiators. Steve was still standing with his head hanging in dejection. Bernard had hunkered down a prudent distance away with his arms wrapped around his knees. In addition to the liberal application of mud and manure, both were streaked with snot, saliva, tomatoes and real blood. Taking a firm hold on Queen Maude's halter, Slugger pointed wordlessly to the hose coiled up neatly on its hanger by the watering trough and Steve trudged toward it. Behind his back, Bernard flashed Slugger the universal okay sign with thumb and forefinger.

Slugger coaxed Maude into one of the stable boxes and locked her in before joining the other two at the water trough. After turning on the hose and sluicing most of the nasty off, Slugger left them wet and shivering on either side side of the trough with instructions to stay right where they were while he fetched towels and blankets from the house. "No talkin'. No fightin'. No nothin'. I'll be right back."

In the kitchen, the three women had convened at the table. Dottie had abandoned her intention to go home and instead was boiling water for tea, sensing her presence was needed here more. Slugger explained that he was about to bring through his two miscreants minus their remaining clothing and suggested the younger ladies repair to the family room where their delicate sensibilities would be protected from unwholesome sights, not to mention offensive smells. Dottie supported the proposition and chivvyed the girls down the hall, shutting the door firmly behind them and returning to the kitchen.

The entire fight had begun and ended within a twenty minute span although to all concerned it seemed like hours had passed. The three men filed into the mudroom, where Slugger instructed Steve to proceed immediately to the upstairs bath. He then shut the door to the hall leading to the family room and ushered Bernard just inside the kitchen where Dottie waited, closing the door between it and the mudroom as well. They waited for the sound of the upstairs lavatory door being closed. With that and three closed doors between them and the girls, they had relatively privacy in which to engage in a brief conference.

Slugger turned on Bernard with an angry glare. "Was it necessary to humiliate him in front of Dora?"

Wrapped in a old striped blanket with his flat gray eyes and wet hair plastered to his head, Bernard resembled a drowned rat. A very annoyed rat.

"What do _you_ think?" he snapped back. "What should I have done instead? You could see he wasn't going to let up otherwise. And the objective was obtained, so what's your beef?"

"You took away his pride!" Slugger argued. "That's a hard thing, for a man to lose his pride!"

"Yeah... well, he'll have to get over it, won't it. The thing is, Slugger, it could have been worse, much worse if I hadn't stopped him right then and there. You should already know, as a former fighter yourself, that any fight you can walk away from is a good one. Maybe when you get to be my age you'll appreciate it more."

"What comes next?" Dottie interrupted softly, trying not to appear too dismayed at the muddy runnels forming on her clean floor. Slugger wanted to pursue his complaint but she held a finger up to silence him. "Let Bernard speak his piece—we only have a few minutes."

With his fresh crop of bruises and scrapes Bernard was managing to appear both younger and older at the same time, but exhibiting the command presence of a headmaster. "All in all, that went pretty well. We got him to make a declaration... in public, no less... with witnesses! But we can't just leave it at that... he has to say it again, to her face... in the right way and at the right time. He has to be made to understand that, agreed?"

Slugger and Dottie nodded in concert.

"But first, we have a few bumps to get past. Someone has to convince Steve that nothing happened down at the lake no matter what Ron had to say. Obviously, that someone isn't me. Otherwise he's gonna hold that grudge against Dora forever."

"Well... you _did_ kiss..." Dottie interjected with gentle disapproval.

"So we did. And you have my word that's _all_ we did. So what? I saw you guys kissing, too, but that's not the same as if I'd caught you with Slugger getting a leg over on the kitchen table."

Both Slugger and Dottie turned beet red and she suddenly broke out in a great peal of laughter before clamping a hand over her mouth. The three of them were, after all, meant to be meeting in secret.

Slugger voiced his opinion. "I think Dottie is the right man—woman, I mean—for the job. She's got the most experience calming down angry young lads and soothing their broken hearts."

"Amen to that!" Dottie rolled her eyes.

"So how about if you have a go at him next... before he's had too much time to think," Bernard said. "The other thing is, you also have to convince him he's got to make a decision within the next thirty hours. This is where the female perspective comes in handy... making him understand why Dora can't wait any longer. Can you handle it?"

"I can. I will!" Dottie said with confidence.

"Slugger, you take on Dora. She's confused and upset right now and doesn't know which way to turn. She doesn't really appreciate what a breakthrough it was for Steve to admit that he loves her... how difficult it was to say the words. You've got to get her to agree to listen to whatever he has to say for himself after Dottie gets done with him. It'd be great if you could convince her to not say anything at all about the fight, but to stay on track and dwell on the future. It's up to her if she wants to explain to him what really went down at the lake."

Dottie, the ultimate multi-tasker, had busied herself with tea preparation as they had been collaborating. She now took over as _charge d'affaires_, rubbing her palms together briskly. "Alright then. Let's regroup. Here's what we're going to do... Edward, you'll take a tray into the family room—I love that term by the way... much cozier than parlor—and have _your_ talk with Dora in there. Send Hazel back out here to me—supper is already prepared and she can be in charge of warming it up and also serve as lookout. When Steve comes back downstairs—it'll be sundown soon—I'll go help him bring the horses in and we'll have _our_ talk outside. Bernard, you go to the downstairs bath and stay there until you get the all clear from Hazel, then it would be best if you retired to your bedroom for the remainder of the evening and stayed out of sight. Hazel will bring you up a tray. Assuming our lovebirds can be talked into civil behavior toward each other, the five of us will sit down to supper. Then, we're going to insist that those two retreat to the family room to discuss these new developments and _stay there_ until they work out a truce. Everyone in agreement? Yes? Good. Let's get to work."

"Do you really believe any of this'll do any good?" Slugger asked.

"Think positive," Bernard encouraged, his now-green eyes glowing luminescent. "It'll all work out. We're almost there. Trust me!"

Slugger disappeared down the hallway with the tea tray, exchanging places with Hazel who then received her instructions from Dottie. Inasmuch as she wasn't the most biddable young woman, Hazel had the prescience to realize that much depended on her keeping to her post in the kitchen so that supper could be presented as normally as possible under the circumstances. All she had to do was watch over the food in the warming oven to ensure nothing was burnt. Meanwhile, she debated calling around to try to locate Ron and fix a place where they could meet away from the farm. Now that the excitement of the fight was over, she realized that Ron —despite his faults—was eminently more suitable a match for her than fiery-tempered Steve could ever have been. And to think she had envied Dora all this time!

When an exhausted and very subdued Steve finally made an appearance and Dottie informed him she would be the one helping bring in the horses, he made no comment. She stepped into a pair of wellies nearest her size—Dora's, but still too big—and confiscated Slugger's windcheater. Tying a scarf firmly under her chin, she marched out the door.

Hazel went to tap on the bathroom door, whispering that the coast was clear. Bernard, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, thanked her and headed for the stairs and the sanctuary of his bedroom.

The house was quiet.

**Field Journal: Friday, September 6, 1974 • 6:00pm**

**Location:** Bedroom (where banished after bath)

As expected, Steve went ballistic over what he perceives as my (our?) treachery. I was fairly sure he would take his rage out on me, not on her. Leading him on a merry chase was fun for a while, but he had more stamina than I allowed for. It got really scary there at the end. Stupid of me to let myself get boxed in. If the others hadn't been there to witness, I might've gotten skewered by a manure fork. What an ignominous way to go!

Here's a thought: If I'd gotten myself killed today, there wouldn't be a future for my favorite grandson to be born into—unless he turns out to be one of Terry or Frankie's boys. But wait... they don't have any children yet so I don't have a favorite grandson yet. (Time travel can mess up your head something awful!)

Presumably She Who Knows Everything already considered that and also knew that today wasn't my day to cross over. (She could have mentioned that and saved me some anxiety.) On the other hand, I don't believe Steve has it in him to kill, not on purpose anyway although he might by accident. He really needs anger management counseling. Perhaps I should suggest that. Has it even been invented yet?

Ron's big mouth saved me the trouble of having to kick things off. He must have told a whopper to get Steve fired up that hot. I guess the end justified the means as the right words were said loud and clear. That's half the battle. The other half is follow-up. I wasn't expecting her to walk away like that. Thought she would be happy. What is it with women? Damned if you don't (say "I love you") and damned if you do. It's up to Slugger and Dottie now.

Wish there'd been an opportunity to find out what Elayne had to say today. Maybe I can wheedle it out of Hazel later. Would it paint me as a voyeur if I say I hope I get to be around long enough to see Dora employ the Ultimate Weapon in her quest?

Sure hope this whole enterprise doesn't turn out to be a case of too little, too late. Keeping fingers crossed that (a) Steve has the fortitude to go to her tonight or tomorrow and (b) she has the sense to listen.

**Note to self:** I have this to say about having a near-death experience-and coming THAT close to being shish kebabbed by a maniac certainly qualifies: I thought I was gonna have a heart attack when he came at me with the fork and as shaky as I'm feeling now it might well still happen.

I'm not much of a drinker but one or two stiff ones in lieu of supper would be welcome. I don't suppose this household keeps a decent liquor cabinet though.

CHAPTER 19:_** "Faint heart never won fair lady"**_ • Miguel de Cervantes

While the girls had been segregated in the family room, Hazel had listened somewhat impatiently while Dora soliloquized on the lovely afternoon at Elayne's, Elayne's titillating advice on matters of the heart, the clash between Steve and Bernard—ostensibly on her behalf, and Steve's dramatic revelation. How long she'd waited to hear those words... and now that they'd been said, how desolate she felt! Hazel felt guiltily relieved when Slugger came to take her place.

Slugger had half expected to find Dora shedding copious tears, surrounded by wads of damp tissue, but she was merely sitting primly at one end of the sofa, her face composed and thoughtful and her hands folded neatly in her lap. He planted himself heavily at the other end.. The fact that she _wasn't_ crying made him all the more nervous.

She started talking in a low monotone before he could say anything. "I was going to tell him myself, Slugs... tonight, after supper. I was going to explain everything. But then Ron went and spoilt it. Steve won't listen to any explanation now; you know how he is. And he'll hate that it took a beating to make him say what he did. It will turn him against us and he'll leave me... us."

"Maybe not," Slugger disagreed. "Dottie's talking with him right this minute. She's got plenty of experience dealing with young men's woes, what with her boys and all. What's more important is, what do _you_ want to do?"

Dora blinked. "Me? What does it matter? It's all over with. We can't go back to the way we were even if we wanted to."

"No, of course not... but you can move forward. Ask yerself this, girl... in spite of everythin', do you still love him?"

"You know I do. With all my heart. But that doesn't seem to be enough, does it?" A deep sigh escaped her. "I can't take any more of this, Slugger. I'm at wits end and I've come to the conclusion that it probably would be best all around if he did leave. Follyfoot can't survive... I can't survive... if we can't live in peace. It's all just too confusing. But I can't be the one to tell him to go... not again. You'll have to do it for me."

"Don't let the sun go down on your anger, girl. Not good for you, for anyone."

Dora managed a weak smile. "I was very angry, yes... because he couldn't even keep his promise from Sunday that he wouldn't act like this again. But I got over it, just as I always do. I'm so tired, Slugger... of the grief, of the uncertainty."

"What is it you want for him, then?"

"I want him to be happy, Slugs. I want him to be able to see the good in the world, not just the bad. Poor Steve. He's never had his day in the sun. I want him to have that, to be truly happy and to feel loved and wanted. I want him to experience affection... and be able to return it. Is that so much to ask?"

"It is if you ain't never learned it. You could bring him to the light, though, if you'd only give him one more chance..."

"If only he'd let me!"

"If Steve was to come to you tonight, or tomorrow... and open his heart to you, would you listen?"

"Yes. Of course. But I'm not counting on that happening."

"But you _would_ listen with an open mind, yes?" Slugger persisted.

"Yes."

Slugger hemmed and hawed, searching for the right words. "You do unnerstan' that even if you was to marry, it'd not make the road any easier. You can't mold him into the man you'd like for him to be. You might can smooth out the rough spots a bit but you can't change the way he is deep down. No, you'll have to be the strong, steady one... the rock and the peacemaker."

"It almost sounds like you're trying to put me off him, Slugger." Dora forced an almost imperceptible grin.

"Not at all. I jus' don't want to see you going into a marriage with yer expectations too high and then being let down the first time you get into a fuss."

"What makes you think he's going to propose now... after all this time?"

"I... er... don't know that he will, but just in case he does we... Dottie and me... we want to be sure you unnerstan' what yer gettin' yerself into. We consider ourselves sur... shur..."

"Surrogate parents?"

"That's us... surrow-gate mum and dad, if you don't mind us takin' the liberty."

Dora stood up and bent over to put her arms around Slugger. "I do love you both. I couldn't wish for better parents. No wait... I did wish for better parents... and I got them! And I do understand, believe me."

Slugger stood also, visibly relieved.

"Supper should be ready soon. I want you to come to table as usual."

"I'm not hungry."

Slugger put on his fake stern face. "That wasn't a suggestion, young lady. You go upstairs and change clothes and wash yer face. You'll come to table if I have to carry you!"

"If I must, I must!" Dora threw up her hands in mock resignation.

Slugger smiled to himself as he watched her walk away, satisfied that he'd accomplished his task as best he could. It remained to be seen how well Dottie had done with the other half of this equation.

Steve had automatically gone about evening stable chores in a sort of daze, alternating between self-loathing over the enormity of what he'd almost done and self-pity because he could discern nothing but dark storm clouds in the days ahead. The only conversation that passed between himself and Dottie was strictly business-related until they'd shut up the last animal into its box and she put herself between him and and the house. "Come... let's have a talk," she said, nodding in the direction of the lake. It didn't occur to Steve to object.

He had no intention of discussing anything with Dottie but followed her to the bench on the dock out of respect for an elder's request. And now she sat beside him in her scarf and Slugger's old windcheater and the too-big wellies, looking out over the waters of the lake, pewter in the twilight. He knew all four of Dorothy Doyle's sons, of course—the youngest of them, Ray, was his own age—and he had always envied them their solid home life under the care of a strict but loving parent. Not once had any one of them voiced anything but praise and love and admiration for their diminutive mother. How different would his life have been if his mother had been anything at all like Dottie Doyle?

"About this afternoon..." Dottie started.

"I don't want to talk about it," Steve cut her off, but not too sharply. "I really don't."

Dottie shrugged. "Then don't. I'll do the talking and I'd very much appreciate it if you could at least pay attention. I reckon I'm near about the age of your own mother, and as well you know I've raised four boys not much older than you, mostly without their father's help.

"Each and every one of them has gone through the same emotional turmoils over a woman as you. Jeremy has been sweet on that nice Sarah since grade school and here he is nearly thirty before settling down. Gerard courted Angeline five years before proposing. John thought he had all the time in the world to marry the love of his life, and just like that she got tired of waiting and married someone else. He felt his world had come to an end. Raymond just hasn't met the right one yet.

"I know you're thinking—but are too much the gentleman to say so—what's the point of my telling you all this. Well, my point is that it isn't all about _you_ and what _you_ want. It's equally about Dora and what _she_ wants. And what she wants is a home with the man she loves in it as her husband and the father of her children. This is what young people do when they grow up, Steven. It's what life is all about. Just because you say you love her isn't enough. Actions speak louder than words. You have to show her.

"Now, if you're absolutely sure you're unable to give her those things, if you're absolutely sure you don't want these things for yourself, then the best and kindest thing you can do is walk away. Are you prepared to pack up and go away and never see Dora again?"

Dottie had not looked at Steve once while delivering this address and now sat silent, awaiting an answer she wasn't entirely sure was going to come.

"I'm not good enough for her," he said, hardly above a whisper.

"Nonsense," Dottie exclaimed. "Dora's not the least impressed with class or rank or social standing. She's given her heart to Follyfoot and this is where she wants to be. This is where she's happy. Weren't you happy here as well?"

"Yes... well... I was..."

"So I'll ask again... do you walk away or do you love Dora enough to make a commitment?"

"I don't want to leave."

"Then only one choice remains and you have to make it before Sunday... before the birthday party."

"But... why?"

Dottie sighed. "You just don't get it. Dora has a greater strength of character than either one of you realize. She's already come to the realization that love without commitment isn't worth squat, and that if she can't have that from you, she can and will look for it in someone else. No one will blame her if she does. If that someone else happens to be introduced to her at the party and she takes up with him, you will never, ever have another chance. I can't make it any plainer than that." They turned to face each other at the same time.

"What should I do? Will she even talk to me, do you think?"

Steve looked so hopeless, so forlorn that Dottie found herself wanting to put her arms around him and cuddle him as she had her sons when they were little boys. _Be stern,_ she reprimanded herself. _Don't give in now._

"She'll listen," Dottie stated, "and if she hears the right words, she'll come around. After supper tonight would be an excellent time for the two of you to speak privately and clear the air... and that can be arranged. What you don't want is for her to go to bed with a sorrowful heart."

"I don't think I can face her at the supper table... or she me."

"Of course you both will... and you'll act as if nothing has happened."

"But what about... _him_...?"

"I'm glad you brought that up. Bernard is not—I repeat, NOT—your problem. I'm going to tell you what Dora told Edward and he told me... and what I personally saw. Neither one of us has any reason to believe she misrepresented the facts: Nothing happened. They shared a kiss. That is all. Dora is not a liar... but Ron is—plus... he twists things around so that they sound worse than they are. He was out to stir the pot and he certainly made a dog's dinner of it. You reacted exactly as he wanted you to. You should know better than to believe everything... or even anything... young Master Stryker says."

Steve had nothing to say to that.

"Your bigger worry should be _why_ she would choose to kiss someone other than you, and my suggestion on that matter is that you ask her directly."

"Can I do that?"

"You can and should. Believe it or not, Bernard isn't what you think he is and he has your and Dora's best interests at heart."

"I find that hard to believe," Steve admitted grudgingly.

"You'll think differently after you and Dora have had a chat. But for right now, we're going back to the house and having supper as usual.

"I'm not hungry."

The supper bell rang as Dottie waggled a finger under Steve's nose. "No excuses. Be a _mensch_. Pull yourself together."

"Yes m'am."

Alone in the kitchen after receiving her instructions and a hurried outline of the plans for the evening, Hazel contemplated the various scenarios that could attend the remainder of the day—none of which included her. How dreary! Then she had a brilliant idea. Darting into the utility room off the scullery, she retrieved a carryall and scuttled through the narrow half-height door leading to the root cellar where Slugger had always maintained a substantial supply of wine, sent down from the big house for those days when the Colonel, when he was still alive, wished to spend the day in his study in the farmhouse. It was still well-stocked and Hazel liberated four dusty and cobwebbed bottles, depositing them in the carryall to which she added two jam jars and a corkscrew from the scullery. A quick trip up the stairs to the second floor and the carryall was secreted in the linen cupboard across the hall from Bernard's closed door.

Back in the kitchen, Hazel again thought about trying to call Ron but considered that the only telephone was in the office adjacent to the family room—no privacy. She repeatedly checked the warming oven until it occurred to her that she was letting more cool air in than keeping food warm. She kept boredom at bay by laying the table, watering the geraniums on the windowsill, and rearranging the knickknacks on the mantelpiece. At length there was nothing else to do but sit in Slugger's old rocker by the stove and thumb through one of Dora's home decor magazines until everyone else got done with whatever they were doing and decided it was time to eat.

Dora wore what she hoped was her inscrutable face as she took her usual seat. Steve, too, was making an effort to preserve a calm exterior.

"Something smells good," he commented with studied nonchalance, avoiding meeting Dora's eyes.

"How was orientation?" Dora ventured, somewhat timidly.

"Good. I'm looking forward to my first class on Monday," Steve replied politely.

Slugger and Dottie glanced at each other and tried not to laugh at this overly theatrical display of cordiality and good manners. The meal progressed peaceably enough with only a faint overtone of tension. Hazel kept quiet but looked up occasionally with burning curiosity. Eventually supper was over and Dottie and Dora cleared the table while Hazel prepared a supper tray for Bernard and took it upstairs. No one noticed when she didn't immediately return.

Slugger went to the family room to get a fire started and turn on some lamps, having sent Steve to bring in additional firewood. Dottie brewed a fresh pot of coffee and put a carafe on a serving tray along with mugs, cream and sugar and handed it to Dora.

"Take this along to the family room, would you? You and Steve have some matters to discuss, I believe. Oh... and would you mind closing the door so your conversation won't disturb Slugger while he reads the paper? I'll be off myself shortly... soon as I've done cleaning up."

The scene was so contrived it was almost funny, but Dora dutifully went down the hall with Steve trailing behind, looking more than a little intimidated. He peeked back over his shoulder and got a thumbs-up and a wink from Dottie before closing the door.

Some time later Dottie fidgeted with her carryall at the table and Slugger, who'd been semi-dozing after the exhausting day, cracked one eye open.

"I'd dearly love to hang around but I have to go home sometime," Dottie complained.

"You could always stay the night, you know," Slugger mumbled, then jerked awake when he thought about how that sounded. "I meant..."

"Edward Jones! The very idea!" Dottie sputtered in mock indignation. "With children underfoot? We'd be the scandal of the county!"

"What I meant was..." Slugger continued lamely. "You could sleep in my bed and I could use Ron's."

Dottie snickered. "As attractive as the idea is, I'm going home anyway so I can be here bright and early tomorrow morning. I've put Queen Maude back in with the donkeys. She's not altogether pleased but she'll have to make do. Sweet dreams, Edward." And then she was gone and Slugger heard the Hillman crank up and depart before he drifted off again.

When a soft rap on Bernard's door had brought no response, Hazel had eased it open. The bedside lamp was still on and Bernard sprawled face-down on the counterpane, asleep in his pajama bottoms and teeshirt. She set the tray down on the small desk and stood silently for several minutes with her hands on her hips, trying to decide how much she wanted to believe of the extravagant claims she'd heard at Elayne's. Then, for the second time that day, she reached over and gently tickled Bernard awake.

"Oh... it's you again," he murmured, rolling over and sitting up cross-legged.

"Yup, it's me again... with your supper." She started to reach for the tray but he waved her off.

"I thought I'd be hungry but... sorry. No... please take it away."

"You should eat something to get your strength back, after all those calisthenics!" Hazel chided. He was looking rather peaked and raggedy, she thought.

"I'd drown my sorrows... if I had anything to drown them with."

Hazel grinned. "Funny you should mention that! I've got just the thing... don't go away!" She scooted out the door and returned immediately with one of the bottles, firmly closing the door behind her. In short order, she uncorked the bottle and filled the jam jars, handing one over to Bernard before claiming the foot of the bed for herself.

"Here's to the meeting of the mindless downstairs," she toasted.

"Is that what's going on?"

"Oh yeah. In the parlor, whatever you call it now... just the two of 'em."

"It's not lookin' good, is it?" Bernard sighed.

"Oh... I wouldn't say that. Dora's pretty set on what she wants and looks to me like the ball's in her court for a change."

"But she turned and walked away... even after he said he loved her, in front of everybody..."

"A woman is entitled to her pride, too, you know..." Hazel said rather sharply. "Look, I can see what's going on here, even though I've only been home five minutes. Steve's been maneuvered into a situation where he has to put up or shut up. Dora's gone all 'I am woman, hear me roar'. Ron's turned into Mr. Bean and Slugger's playing Sergeant Major Grout. Lady Elayne and Dottie Doyle are Macbeth's witches..."

"Um... aren't there supposed to be _three_ witches?"

"Two... three... who cares? And then there's you... the instigator... and not even a proper human being... what exactly _are_ you, by the way."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bernard blustered.

Hazel leaned forward conspiratorially. "Oh _come on_, Boo! I'll show you mine if you show me yours..."

"Excuse me?"

"You tell me _what_ you are and _why _you're here... and I'll tell you everything that was said at Elayne's today. She made swear not to talk about it but I figure since you're one of _them_, you don't count. How about it? Do we have a deal? I'm absolutely willing to accept whatever you tell me you are."

Bernard considered her offer and decided that, in the light of imminent failure, any further pretense of secrecy regarding either his mission or his persona was moot. "Okay," he finally said, "but we'll need more wine."

He embarked on an highly editorialized version of where he'd originated, why he'd been sent, what he'd hoped to achieve, and what had happened so far. After collecting and opening the second bottle, Hazel rebutted with a condensed recitation of Elayne's advice to Dora. They were careful to keep their voices down in case any interesting noises came up from down below, but so far there hadn't been anything other than the Hillman puttering away.

At one point Hazel, calling for a break, slithered off the bed and out the door. "Give me ten minutes!" Actually, she made it back in six minutes with another bottle and a situation report: Slugger was asleep in the rocker by the stove. Who knew where Ron was? It seemed he wasn't coming home tonight. Steve and Dora were still closeted in the family room with the door closed—she had crept close enough to hear the murmur of voices but not what was being said. "And get this, they weren't even yelling at each other!"

Hazel burped delicately and managed to uncork the third bottle after some difficulty working the corkscrew. "I can't even imagine Dora doing what Elayne said. She's so square... so... repressed... but then... what _she_ said... about kissing you..." Hazel fixed a penetrating and crafty look at Bernard. "Hmmmmnnnn..."

Bernard's eyes widened in alarm as he suddenly registered that the girl had, while out on patrol, changed into babydoll nighties gauzy enough to display all her assets—and was looking absolutely delicious. He recoiled, holding up one hand with palm turned outward as if to ward her off. "Stay away. I'm in enough trouble already. In fact, I think you should leave."

"Make me!"

"I would," he hiccupped, "except I don't think I can stand up. You fillies are gonna get me slaughtered!"

"Us _what?_"

"You... Folly fillies... you're dangerous... both of y'all."

Hazel tried to look indignant. "For your information, I do not look like a horse... and I'm not leaving until I hear your side of the story! What _really_ happened out there in the woods, eh? Come on... you can tell me..."

"Nothin'... none of your bish... business!" Bernard was turning maudlin. "That wash a mistake. The whole idea... big, big mistake. Should neber have come here."

The third empty bottle rolled off the bed onto the carpet with a thunk. Hazel lurched over to the carryall she'd brought in with her and extracted the fourth and last bottle.

"So are you, like... a wizard? Can y'do wizardy things?" she inquired earnestly, listing slightly to port.

"Nope. I'm jus' an ordinary shaftshipper... shiftshaper... um, shapeshifter."

Hazel snickered and pronounced her words with studied precision. "An 'ordinary shapeshifter.' That must be the ultimate oxymoron."

They both tittered.

"D'ya turn into somethin' really neat... like a wolf or a weagle... an eagle, I mean?"

" 'Fraid not. Jus' a horse... not even a good 'un. Never been that good at it."

"Oooooooooh! Brilliant! Could ya do one for me now?"

"Shertainly not. S'not a pretty sight. Give you nightmares. No pun intended." Bernard laughed and belched at the same time. " 'Scuse me. Next question?"

"Are you really from the future?"

"Yep. Sure am. Two thousand an' ten. Long, long time from now."

Hazel squinted one eye shut and performed basic subtraction in the air with a forefinger.

"I'll be, lessee... fifty-four by then. I'll be an old crone!" she wailed. "And you'll be dead."

"No I won't! I'll be... I _am_... I was... almost sixty!" Bernard said defensively, "But right now I'm not."

"No kiddin'!?" Hazel goggled. "Eeeyeeew! Dora kissed somebody's granddad! 'Course, you look pretty good for an old fart."

"Thanks... I think."

Hazel's mirth subsided. "What will it be like, then? Will it be very different from now?"

"Very different," Bernard agreed, more or less soberly. It took them several minutes to get the fourth bottle open.

It seemed to Slugger like he'd slept only five minutes before a hand gently shook him awake. It was Dora's.

"Eh? What? What is it? Something wrong?"

"Not at all. Sorry to disturb you, but can you come to us for a minute or two?"

Slugger lumbered out of his rocker and glanced at the mantel clock to see that it was nearing midnight. He shambled after Dora to the family room where Steve was standing near the fireplace. Dora bade Slugger sit in the new rocker and went to stand beside Steve, but didn't take his hand. Slugger looked from one to the other warily but was unable to read their expressions.

"You wanted to tell me something?" he finally prodded.

Dora spoke first, slowly and firmly without any hesitation.

"Steve has asked me to marry him, although I can't imagine why he thinks I would want to, given what's happened," she said.

A sense of caution descended on Slugger. "Oh?" he asked, with the unspoken question.

"I have reservations. I told him I'd have to think about it and that I'd give him an answer tomorrow. I want to know if you think that's fair."

Slugger contemplated this and turned the question back onto Steve. "That's for you to say, not me."

Steve shrugged and looked away. "I suppose it is, yes. I can hardly expect Dora to jump for joy... especially after the way I've been acting... not just today but for years. So, yeah... it's fair."

"The second thing I want to know... and I want the truth from you... look me in the eyes and promise you and Dottie and Bernard didn't push him into this... that he acted on his own without being coerced."

Slugger had to think very, very carefully about this. If he said no, would that not be an outright lie? If he said yes, would he be responsible for sundering this tenuous affiliation between the two young people he loved best before it had a chance to take root? Dora appeared determined and Steve desperate.

"I think..." Slugger began slowly, "Steve had this in mind all along, but it's a hard thing for a man to face and even harder to ask. You can't imagine how hard. We men are weak vessels as it is, Dora. The more we love someone, the more we're unwilling to risk rejection. So, yes... you could say we sort of all pitched in to encourage Steve to be brave and courageous and take that risk... but no, he made the decision by himself. I hope that answers your question to your satisfaction."

Dora was nodding her head thoughtfully. "Yes. Yes it does. Thank you, Slugger. Good night." Then she turned and left the room.

Steve slumped to the couch at the end nearest Slugger's rocker and put his head in his hands. When he raised it, Slugger was alarmed to see tears on his face.

"She's going to say no, Slugs. I just know it. I left it too late and I have no one to blame but myself. I'll have to leave her... and Follyfoot and everything."

"Now, now," Slugger soothed, "Don't go putting the cart before the horse. Get a good night's rest and tomorrow, after chores, you and Dora go on a nice long hack—just the two of you. Spend some time alone together and talk it over. Take all day if you need. The rest of us can cope. Go on up to bed now. I'm wore out myself."

"You're right, Slugs. You always are."

Caution had long since flown out the window. The talking and laughing in the small bedroom upstairs had got progressively louder as the clock ticked on toward midnight. Bernard and Hazel didn't hear footsteps coming down the hall until interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

"What's going on in there?" It was Dora.

"Nothing!" they sang out in unison. The door swung open and there stood Dora. Her mouth hung open at the sight of the two of them ensconced on Bernard's bed amidst three empty wine bottles, with a fourth on the floor.

"Uh oh!" Hazel said. "Matron!"

"Busted!" Bernard said.

They looked at each other and belched simultaneously before collapsing in fits of giggles.

Dora was torn between mortification, disgust and an urge to break out in hysterical laughter herself. She struggled to speak with a stern voice. "You're drunk as a pair of boiled owls, the pair of you!"

"Yes m'am... drunk as a skunk," Bernard admitted.

"Pissed as a newt," Hazel offered.

"Stewed to the gills," Bernard averred.

"Ploughed," Hazel added.

"Hazel, you've had quite enough. Time you went to your own room," Dora said, trying to keep a straight face. As both were still dressed, it appeared that nothing ontoward had been going on... but one never knew, did one?

"Yessum," Hazel snorted and slid off the bed onto the floor. "Ooopsie!"

Dora grabbed her upper arm and hauled her up.

"G'night, Bernard... it's been fun.."

"G'night, Hazel, and schlep... schleep well."

"Out!" Dora ordered, giving Hazel a push.

She wobbled unsteadily past Dora and off to her own bedroom.

"As for you..." Dora turned her attention to Bernard.

"We weren't doing anythin'," he protested.

"Neither were we and look where that got us," Dora retorted crisply. "Haven't you had enough beatings for one week? Go to bed."

"Guess what? I'm already there... heh heh heh..."

"Then go to sleep."

"About today... shorry, Dorrie..."

"No you're not. You were having a fine old time, the both of you. You could have got away any time you pleased yet you kept leading him on. I'm so mad at both of you I could just spit. And now he's asked me to marry him!"

Bernard's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "He did? Why... thass great news! Congratzu... congatchu... whatever." He attempted to lean over to shake her hand and fell over on the bed, looking up at her with a silly grin.

"Go to sleep, Bernard," she repeated crossly, slamming the door as she left the room.

Dora peeked in Hazel's room on the way to her own to find the girl already asleep... or passed out... on the bed. She sighed and threw a light blanket over her. In her own bed, unable to get to sleep, she listened for Steve's footfalls coming up the stairs and the slight sounds of Slugger closing down the house for the night.

She honestly had no idea what answer she would give to Steve's proposal. Her head told her one thing but her heart told her another.

**No journal entries for Friday night.**

**CONTINUED IN VOLUME IV**


End file.
